














American Dramatists Series 


GERRY’S 

AWAKENING 

A Play in Three Acts 

FRANCES PUSEY GOOCH 

ii ' 



BOSTON: THE GORHAM PRESS 

TORONTO: THE COPP CLARK CO., LIMITED 
C Qp\l “Zj 


Copyright, 1916, by Richard G. Badger 

* • 

All Rights Reserved 





FEB -5 i9i7 

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MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



46171 


V 





%!'* 


I 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 




Characters in Order of Speaking 

Mr. Newcome 

Mrs. Newcome 

Gerald Newcome {Gerry) 

Mrs. Cross {Lady-fair) 

Hermione Dissette 

Arthur Kent 

Little Benjamin Cross 

Duncan 

Marie 


Time The Present 

Place A City 


ACT I 


Foyer of the Newcome Apartment. 

ACT II 

Foyer of Lady-fair s Apartment , immediately be- 
low the Newcomes, two months later. 

ACT III 

The same as Act I, a year later. 

An interval of a few hours is supposed to take 
place during the brief darkening of the stage in the 
middle of Act II. 


Gerry’s Awakening 

ACT I 

Scene — The Foyer of the Flew comes* apartment, 
in the early evening. The furnishings are dull, mas- 
sive and comfortable, suggesting bachelor quarters 
except for the glimpse of the drawingroom beyond 
the half -drawn velour draperies off center. The 
entrance from the elevator hallway is at the right 
and faces, on the opposite side of the room, the 
archway to the hall off which the other rooms open. 
Both the door and the archway are in diagonal 
walls. A latch key fumbles the nervous entrance 
of Mr. Newcome who slams the door after him, 
strides to a Tiff any -shaded lamp on a large table 
in the middle of the room , and, without removing 
hat or overcoat, thrusts a blue bank-check under the 
light. Not satisfied, he touches electric buttons till 
the room is brilliantly illuminated. He is a man of 
about fifty, well dressed and well groomed, but 
showing the ageing and roughening effect of past 
hard labor. He is quivering with excited anger. 
Mrs. Newcome, plump, bejeweled and overdressed , 
pauses between the curtains and regards him pla- 
cidly. The bank-check trembles in his grasp till it 
rustles audibly. 

Mr. Newcome — Damn! 

Mrs. Newcome — Feel better, Daddy? 

7 


8 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Mr. Newcome — ( Turns , in inarticulate wrath , 
and manages to sputter ). Do you — can you — 
would you believe it? — that boy of our’n has signed 
my name to a check for one hundred dollars made 
payable to himself, endorsed it and collected the 
money at the bank, with nobody the wiser till I dis- 
covered it when the check come in ! 

Mrs. Newcome — Dear me! — signed your name? 
What a clever boy he is! Seems to me, tho’, that’s 
goin’ a bit too far — you orter reprove him. 

Mr. Newcome — R t-reprove? Well, I’ll be — 

Mrs. Newcome — Tut, tut, Daddy! you’ll spoil 
your digestion for dinner — an’ for a measly hundred 
dollars that’s more’n come back to you in int’rest 
while you’ve been fumin’ about it. 

Mr. Newcome — But, Mumsey, he signed my 
name. 

Mrs. Newcome — Of course ’twas your name — 
mine wouldn’t adone him no good! ( She scrouges 
back comfortably into a large arm-chair) . — an’ he 
wouldn’t go outside the family for a prank like 
that — no more’n his rascally little fingers ever pil- 
fered from anybody’s pocket-book but his mother’s. 

Mr. Newcome — Well, damned if I don’t agree 
with Lady-fair about that boy’s raisin’ — he never 
had none! 

Mrs. Newcome — Look here, Daddy, I’m not 
high falutin’ except when company’s around, but 
three of them words in — 

Mr. Newcome — I beg your pardon, Mumsey. 
(He removes hat and overcoat and hands them to 
the man-servant who comes at the sound of voices , 
then he goes over to his wife's chair and continues 
apologetically) . I don’t often lose my temper, but 


ACT I 


9 


Gerry is beginning to make me uneasy. He’s got 
no more money sense than a baby — and him nearly 
twenty-five year old ! He’s been out of college nigh 
onto three years, and nary a penny has he earned 
yet. 

Mrs. Newcome — What’s the use? You’ve got 
more’n you know what to do with; an’, seems to 
me, you’d want your son to have all the good things 
you missed. 

Mr. Newcome — I do, my dear, I do, — but La- 
dy-fair thinks — 

Mrs. Newcome — For land’s sake hasn’t she been 
thinkin’ it ever since the Christmas we moved into 
her Pa’s ’ristocratic neighborhood an’ she mistook 
Gerry for a doll? She wasn’t five years old then, 
but nary a sawdust doll would she ever play with 
after’ards; an’ before she was fairly out of short 
dresses, she was married an’ makin’ live-doll clothes 
for herself — which settled it so far as Gerry’s ever 
ketchin’ up with her in age. 

Mr. Newcome — He couldn’t do that if he lived 
to be as old as Methuselah and she stood still ! Why, 
that little woman’s got the oldest head on the 
youngest shoulders — 

Mrs. Newcome — Head an’ shoulders same age 
eggsactly, an’ haven’t been in this world a day 
longer than Gerry’s — only she’s been married, an’ 
it seems longer. 

Mr. Newcome — Anyway, she’s got fine ideas 
about raisin’ boys — 

Mrs. Newcome — Wait an’ see. Little Benja- 
min’s had only five years of her experimentin’ to 
Gerry’s twenty. 

Mr. Newcome — Her boy’s got more show — you 


10 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


won’t catch him wearin’ knee-pants and curls and 
fal-de-rols when girls of his age are gettin’ married. 

Mrs. Newcome — Well, such an injestice! You 
know Gerry’s curls was cut off — 

Mr. Newcome — One side by his school-mates! 

Mrs. Newcome — before he was in his teens; an’ 
as for long pants — trousers, he had them on some 
months before Lady-fair married. You recollect 
how mad he got because she said if he’d only waited 
a little longer he could abeen ring-bearer at her wed- 
din’? ( Mr . Newcome walks the floor , unmindful 
of his wife's reminiscences , deeply perturbed) . Lit- 
tle Benjamin is gettin’ to the age where she can 
practice what she’s been preachin’ all these years 
about our Gerry. Just think of that little chap 
bein’ the lorn lone heir to a million, an’ him allowed 
a dollar a week spendin’ money, an’ no more think- 
in’ of goin’ into his mother’s pocket-book than usin’ 
her tooth-brush! 

Mr. Newcome — “Regard for property-rights” is 
what Lady-fair calls it — a moral principle that’s not 
born in children, but must be taught ’em, she says; 
and blessed if I ain’t beginning to think she’s right. 
( The sound of a latch key in the door and a cheery 
voice exchanging pleasantries with the elevator-boy 
brings a look of beaming expectancy into Mrs. New- 
come's eyes and makes Mr. Newcome forget his 
anger and uneasiness for the moment. A young 
man enters , not boisterously , yet with the effect of 
breathing life into surroundings whose reason for 
existence is himself. He is good to look at, even to 
impartial eyes , and the elder Newcomes greet his 
appearance with fondly admiring looks that take him 
in from the roach of his dark hair to his fleckless 


ACT I 


ii 


Patent-leathers — until remembrance changes paternal 
benignancy to scowling displeasure). Look here, 
Gerry — ( The telephone rings , and the butler ap- 
pears at the archway). 

Gerry — For me, I guess, Duncan — here, take 
these. ( He tosses hat , gloves and stick to the but- 
ler , with friendly aim rather than a demand for ser- 
vice, and slips out of his modish top-coat, skilfully as- 
sisted by the alert and smiling servant, and goes to 
the desk- phone near the archway). Hello! . . . 

Wilson? — that’s all. (He chuckles, then straight- 
ens up and pulls a long face). No insinuation, old 
chap, — on the contrary, I’d say you were on the 
water-wagon if it wasn’t for those tires I smashed. 

. . . Get new ones, of course. . . . Yes, 

sure, all four — you won’t have the luck to get run 
into all around the next time. (He hangs up the 
receiver with a shrug). Glad Wilson didn’t strike 
me for a new car — he’d wanted a limousine for his 
old run-about. What’s the matter, Dad? Look as 
if you had something in your system. Get it out. 
(The telephone rings again). They know where to 
locate me at dinner-time. . . . Hello! . . . 

Yes, talking. . . . American beauties, you said, 

didn’t you ? . . . They’re on their way. Sorry 

I can’t drop in and see William glare at the flowers 
he’s too stingy to buy. . .. Saving his money 

to marry you ? — well, I like that ! . . . Thanks, 

I like you, too — would put it stronger if Willie-boy 
were listening. Good-bye! . . . Don’t men- 

tion it — I’ll keep you in flowers till William has 
the right to kick. Good-bye! 

Mr. Newcome — (Angrily). So that’s some of 
the ways you get rid of so much money? 


12 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Gerry — Y ep — some of ’em. ( The telephone 
again). Excuse my back, Mumsey, — I may as well 
camp here till the rush is over. . . . Hello! 

. . . Brown? Brown? — oh yes! of the ban- 
quet committee. . . . Which club do you pre- 
fer? . . . Use my name at any of ’em. . . . 

Sure we want something first class. Nothing’s too 
good for old Cornell! ( Waves his disengaged 
hand in tempo while emitting the College yell , sub- 
dued to his environments). Only a dozen, you say, 
to be rounded up out of all the gang? — Gee, they’re 
a busy bunch! Make up in quality what we lack 
in numbers. . . . Oh, bother expense! I’ll 

stand for the deficit. 

Mr. Newcome — ( Peremptorily ). Gerry! 

Gerry — ( Still talking). All right — see you to- 
morrow — so-long! ( Hangs up the receiver). What 
is it, Dad? ( Again he is interrupted , and he turns 
to the * phone with an apologetic grimace). Beat it! 
— I mean, here I am — if you want me. . . . 

Excuse me, darling l I didn’t dream — . . 

Of course it’s “Gerry dear” — anybody else calling 
you “darling” — ... I mean since I put “rings 

on your fingers and — . . .” Certainly you must 

wear it — good way to announce it — {He starts 
in nervous irritation , and his smile changes to a 
frown). Your only requirement was that it should 
cost twice as much as William paid for Ethel’s. . 

. . Yes, exactly double. . . . Never mind 

about that. . . . Well, you see, I love Dizzy 

more than I hate debt. 

Mrs. Newcome — {Starting up from a nap in her 
chair). Death! 

Gerry — {Calling over his shoulder). Wake up, 


ACT I 


13 


Mumsey, I said debt. . . . Did you hear Mum- 

sey’s shriek? She thought I said “death” — and Dad 
looks as if he’d rather I had — so you see what you’ve 
gotten me into — a lecture on finances! I’ll be late, 
getting around for you, as I’ve got to dress yet — 

. . . “Cousin Arthur” dining with Lady-fair 

you say? Humph! he’d better take a flat in this 
building. Come along with him, then, but don’t 
stop below. Bring this back to me. ( He sounds 
a kiss thro ’ the receiver , hangs it up and leans back 
with a laugh). 

Mr. Newcome — ( Reaching over Gerry* s shoulder 
and taking down the receiver). Hello, hello, down 
there, hello, I say! Don’t connect up this flat with 
anybody else till I tell you. {He steps back and 
looks at Gerry). Now, Mr. Easy-mark, Good-fel- 
low, Lady’s-man, take a minute off and explain this 
bit of penmanship. 

Gerry — Neat, isn’t it? — for an experiment. 

Mr. Newcome — E-e-exper — 

Gerry — Don’t get apoplectic, the worst is yet to 
come (His debonnair manner changes to irrita- 
bility). I’m practicing up for an emergency. 

Mr. Newcome — E-e-emer — 

Gerry — You’ll save time, Dad, if you’ll stop but- 
ting in. 

Mrs. Newcome — Be ca’m, Daddy, be ca’m. 

Gerry — The word “debt” is a jarring note, don’t 
you think, in a girl’s rhapsody over her engagement 
ring? 

Mrs. Newcome — Oh, Lordy! has Hermiony Dis- 
sette caught you at last? (He flashes her an affec- 
tionate, conciliatory smile, then continues gravely ad- 
dressing his father). 


14 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Gerry — Hermione knows my weak point, but 
she doesn’t respect it. She says the only “streak” — 
while I say “heritage” — of the laboring man you’ve 
transmitted to me is the notion that bills should be 
paid when presented. 

Mr. Newcome — A — and this is the way you 
propose to pay ’em? (Shaking the forged check at 
him). 

Gerry — Not unless I have to hold up other peo- 
ple’s money while yours is accruing interest. 

Mr. Newcome — Don’t be so d-darned free with 
your money, and your bank-account won’t — 

Gerry — My money — my bank-account ! — a fourth 
dimension, a variable, a thing dependable as parental 
temper — five thousand this month, one thousand 
next, and my plebeian hatred of debt the tire to get 
wrenched in checking to one from a speed set at 
five! 

Mr. Newcome — I’ve been warning you to slow 
down the past six months, but nothing short of a 
blow-out ’d attract your attention 

Gerry — The report this time was loud enough, 
I assure you, to go the rounds. Even Dizzy suspects 
her ring isn’t within my present bank-balance. 

Mrs. Newcome — Tiffany wouldn’t have to go 
out of business. 

Gerry — I like to buy where I want to, not neces- 
sarily where I’m known. 

Mr. Newcome — A young fellow with your pros- 
pects — 

Gerry — “Prospects” is an elastic income that 
friends stretch to the limit; and with nothing more 
definite, a rich man’s son is only a hanger-on till af- 
ter the funeral. 


ACT I 


15 


Mrs. Newcome — Now, now — 

Mr. Newcome — What’s the use of a lot of idle 
money in bank? — I’m turning it over for you. 

Gerry — Turn some of it over to me — 

Mr. Newcome — To gamble in Wall Street — 

Gerry — Gamble? — I really can’t say. I never 
had anything I felt free to gamble with — risk as I 
please, with no one to grumble if I lost. . . 

Dad, I’ve tried to give you value received for your 
“show,” but there are times when I feel as degraded 
as a woman whose finances fluctuate with her hus- 
band’s digestion or his morals. 

Mrs. Newcome — Land sakes, Daddy, you must 
’ave put the screws on him — I never saw him in 
such a tantrum. 

Mr. Newcome — It was high time — 

Mrs. Newcome — Talkin’ ’bout screws — what’s 
the use inventin’ a screw what’s been a bonanza, if 
you’re goin’ to put the screws on your only child? — 
ha! ha! ha! 

Gerry — Mumsey, you’re a darling! 

Mr. Newcome — I won’t have him usin’ my 
name — 

Gerry — Your name is the magic word I conjure 
with. Nothing opens to me but Mumsey ’s purse. 

Mrs. Newcome — ( With a little snort of con- 
tempt ). Which Lady-fair calls “stealin’.” 

Gerry — (Shrugging). Lady-fair — (A light tap- 
ping arrests his words and he goes to open the door. 
A young woman of matronly air, in dinner-gozvn and 
without wraps, enters familiarly). 

Lady-fair— Gerry’s nickname insures this eaves- 
dropper always hearing good of herself. What were 
you saying about me? 


* 


i6 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Gerry — That “Lady-fair” suggests characteris- 
tics not to be looked for in Mrs. Cross. ( He turns 
and walks away). 

Lady-fair — ( Her eyes following him with a puz- 
zled frown). Why so — so — 

Gerry — {Turning and bowing). Gallant? 

Lady-fair unnatural ? 

Gerry — Is this more — {He tilts up her chin 
and kisses her). — natural? 

Lady- fair — The other extreme ! — as if you’d been 
doing something naughty. {She studies him gravely 
till his eyes droop). 

Mr. Newcome — He has been, Lady-fair — some- 
thin’ rotten, and I’m going to ask your advice. {Ger- 
ry takes him by the arm and draws him toward arch- 
way). 

Gerry — You’ve just time to dress for dinner, 
Dad. And, Mumsey, dear, won’t you have the ta- 
ble especially pretty tonight? Dizzy likes sprawly 
center-pieces and lots of stuffed olives and chocolate 
mints. 

Mrs. Newcome — That I will, my boy. ( Beam- 
ingly , as she prepares to follow her husband). You 
and Hermiony have got somethin’ up your sleeve, 
I’m thinkin’. Stay to dinner, Lady-fair, an’ see 
what ’tis. I heard Gerry say her cousin was goin’ to 
bring her around, and we’ll keep him to balance the 
table. 

Lady-fair — {Watching Gerry, in an absorbed 
way, and answering disconnectedly) . I don’t be- 
lieve Gerry wants — that is, Arthur Kent is coming 
to dine, or rather to have tea with Benjamin and 
me. . . . But — but thank you all the same — 

{She adds this in hasty and more attentive explana- 


ACT I 


i7 


tion). — You know I’m always ready for the good 
things of your table, but I lunched with Arthur to- 
day — a man’s luncheon at his Club — and I’m having 
him to a light tea tonight for the sake of hi? -diges- 
tion. 

Mrs. Newcome — Nonsense! A man’s dinner is 
the mainest part of the day to him. He’ll be ready 
enough to change tea down there ( Pointing below) 
to dinner up here, providin’ he’s next to you. I’ll 
go an’ fix that all right. Keep her up here, son. 

Lady-fair — {As soon as they are alone). Why 
don’t you want me, Gerry? 

Gerry — {With nervous gaiety). Who is acting 
unnaturally now? You’d better stay — Dizzy and I 
may set you and Kent an example. 

Lady-fair — My husband effectually closed that 
door to me. 

Gerry — Kent’s on the job outside, to open the 
door whenever you say the word. He doesn’t con- 
sider the forfeiture of a million dollars an excessive 
price to pay for him. 

Lady-fair — {Impatiently) . I came up to talk 
about you, not Arthur. Do you know you’ve not 
been down to my rooms for a week ? 

Gerry — I’ve been getting engaged to Dizzy. 

Lady-fair — Seriously this time? 

Gerry — Not everyone considers me the kid — 
{He stops in confusion as she shudders and with- 
draws the hand she was about to lay on his arm). 

Lady-fair — Hermione is an expensive sweet- 
heart, and — and, perhaps, you’ve overdrawn — or is 
it speculation, cards, something you don’t want your 
father to know? Tell me, Gerry — I’m your almost 
sister and will help you financially or any way if 


i8 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


you’ll trust me — 

Gerry — Would you mind telling me what you’re 
talking about? 

Lady-fair — Don’t — don’t try to make me be- 
lieve it isn’t you. It grieves me to think you could 
be so selfish and inconsiderate, but if I thought it 
was a real — (She stops with a shudder). 

Gerry — Real what? 

Lady-fair — Ki — kidnapper — (He flings off her 
hand in startled repulsion) . — I’d be frightened to 
death ! 

Gerry — You are grieved if it is I, and frightened 
to death if it is not — isn’t that putting me between 
the Devil and the deep sea? 

Lady- fair — What is your object? — you wouldn’t 
hesitate to ask me for money, would you, if you 
needed it? — needed it even for something your father 
might not be tolerant of — I’m the same as a sister — 

Gerry — A sister could not tax my courtesy as 
you are doing. 

Lady-fair — You’ve often said I’d surrender my 
entire fortune upon demand, as ransom for Benja- 
min — 

Gerry — Is that your reason for believing me ca- 
pable — 

Lady-fair — Not if you had stopped to think, but 
— but perhaps you wanted the money quickly, with- 
out any questioning? 

Gerry — Did I get it? 

Lady-fair — No, because I wasn’t sure — 

Gerry — A-ah ! you’re not sure ? 

Lady-fair — I am — that is — 

Gerry — Of what, exactly, am I accused? 

Lady-fair — Of writing me threatening letters 


ACT I 


19 


and telephoning me — 

Gerry — I ? 

Lady-fair — Yes you! There was little disguise 
of your writing, and none at all of your voice in 
’phoning — you even laughed when I called you “Ger- 
ry dear” — 

Gerry — Naturally, if the fellow’s name happened 
to be Pete or Tony. 

Lady-fair — You started once to call me by my 
name — the name you gave me — you said, “Aren’t 
you going to pay any attention to those letters, Lady 
— Madam ?” 

Gerry — Wouldn’t a stranger be likely to say 
“lady” in telephoning? 

Lady-fair — Gerry, I should go mad if I thought 
it was a stranger doing this thing ! 

Gerry — You’d rather believe me capable of black- 
mail — 

Lady-fair — No, no! it wouldn’t be that in you 
— you haven’t been taught to look at it in that way — 
you consider me one of the family — 

Gerry — And you think I’d fleece and forge and 
terrorize and commit any sort of crime among my 
family that would land me in the penitentiary if 
practiced on other people! I knew you hadn’t much 
of an opinion of me, but I didn’t know it was that 
low ( He flings out of the , room, leaving Lady- 
fair standing bewildered, the picture of terror and 
despair). 

Mr. Newcome — ( Entering from left and passing 
Gerry). Been lecturing him, have you? Nobody 
else has the courage. He told you about forging my 
name? 

Lady-fair — Forging! did he do that? — why — 


20 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


why, he must be in need of money. I knew I couldn’t 
be mistaken ! ( She drops into a chair with a sigh of 

relief and regret). 

Mr. Newcome — Look here, Lady-fair, there’s 
nobody but you that understands that boy and 
has got the backbone to oppose him. I’m going to 
consult you about this thing. (He hands her the 
forged check). That’s his latest fool act — experi- 
ment , he calls it. He’s got no more notion of busi- 
ness principle than your little Benjamin — not as 
much, for that little chap already seems to know 
what is his’n and what ain’t. 

Lady- fair — I’ve certainly tried to teach him — 
but, forgive me, Mr. Newcome, have you done as 
much for Gerry? 

Mr. Newcome — You mean — 

Lady-fair — Haven’t you and Mrs. Newcome in- 
dulged Gerry’s every whim, shielded him from prac- 
tical things instead of fitting him for them, and 
thought always of his pleasure rather than his good ? 

Mr. Newcome — Looks sort o’ that way — from 
the mess we’ve made of it. 

Lady-fair — Dear Mr. Newcome, give him a 
chance before it’s too late. Idleness and money are 
proving his ruin. Put him to work. 

Mr. Newcome — What’s he fit for? 

Lady-fair — You allowed him to follow his bent 
thro’ college, and he took his degree in mechanical 
engineering with credit. Why not — 

Mr. Newcome — Because his mother’ll never con- 
sent to dirty work — says she don’t want no more 
grease and overalls in hers — tho’ Lord knows how 
I’d ever invented that screw if I hadn’t been down 
under the machinery to see what was needed. You’ll 


ACT I 


21 


have to think up some gentlemanly job if you want 
to put Gerry to work. (His laugh betrays sensi- 
tiveness as well as weakness. Lady-fair walks the 
floor in agitation. Gerry and his mother return , 
with his arm about her plump waist and she look- 
ing up at him in adoring admiration. He has dressed 
for dinner and regained his good-humor) . 

Lady-fair — Gerry, your father has told me of 
your criminal use of his name — 

Gerry — Dad ! 

Lady-fair — Will you, or must I, tell him of 
your criminal and cowardly threats to me? (Both 
parents start and ejaculate indignantly). 

Gerry — I think Dad and Mumsey will require 
proof even from you of so grave a charge as that. 

Mrs. Newcome — I should say! That’s pretty 
plain speakin’ even for a family row. 

Mr. Newcome — You mean well, my dear, but — • 

Lady-fair — Gerry, can’t we — you and I — set- 
tle this between ourselves? 

Gerry — I’m not a n^/w-specialist. (His mother 
stifles a little snort of amusement in her lace hand- 
kerchief) . 

Mr. Newcome — Don’t be hasty, Lady-fair. 

Mrs. Newcome — I’d think you’d be tired look- 
in’ after him by this time. Can’t you see he’s grown 
up? 

Lady- fair — (Waving them aside tragically). I 
must try to save you, Gerry! (She turns to the par- 
ents with stern self -repression) . Mr. Newcome, Mrs. 
Newcome, dear old friends, you’ve been everything 
to me all my heart-hungry lonely life and it breaks 
my heart to grieve you, but Gerry has been writing 
me threatening letters about kidnapping my child — 


22 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Mr. Newcome — God save us! 

Mrs. Newcome — My stars! ( Gerry answers 
their appealing looks with a shrug , as if the matter 
were beyond his comprehension) . 

Lady-fair unless I put tw.o thousand dol- 

lars — 

Mr. Newcome — Ha, ha, ha! Why, dear girl, 
can’t you take a joke? — two thousand dollars, 
pshaw! If it had been fifty — 

Lady-fair — Did you consider forging your name 
for only a hundred a joke. 

Mr. Newcome — No, by Jinks! — but that was 
only an experiment. Besides, forgery is something 
outsiders might ’ave caught up with — 

Lady-fair — The United States mail — 

Mr. Newcome — Yes, yes, to be sure, if you'u 
started a panicky investigation. But knowin’ the 
culprit you oughtn’t be so upset over a fool prank. 

Mrs. Newcome — ( Placidly seating herself). 
You never did have no sense of the ridiculous, you 
poor thing. (Mr. Newcome and Lady-fair turn 
aside and argue in an excited undertone , and the 
mother continues her remarks at Gerry who is 
blowing rings of smoke above her hair). I always 
said ’twas squashing the last spark of fun in her na- 
ture to marry her to old Ben Cross — her father had 
better took the bankrupt-law than sell his child, to 
my way of thinkin’. But the very idee of you writ- 
in’ threatenin’ letters to make her lend you money! 
You’d a hugged her into givin’ it to you, same as 
me. 

Gerry — You don’t understand, Mumsey, — you 
and Dad. The letters probably are not signed, and 
Lady-fair only hopes I wrote them, as it would drive 


ACT I 


23 


her mad, she says, if she thought they were from 
a stranger. 

Mrs. Newcome — Well, I never! 

Mr. Newcome — This comes of me talkin’ too 
much! Give a dog a bad name — But I’d never 
expected a thing like that from you, Mrs. Cross — 
with your squeamish notions about fairness, honor 
and commonsense generally. A woman’s a woman 
whatever unnatural amount of brains she’s got! 

Lady-fair — Oh, it’s maddening to think of Ben- 
jamin — 

Mr. Newcome — Yes, yes, little woman, of course 
that makes it excusable in you — I forgot for the 
minute — I’m sorry I was harsh. We’ll put detec- 
tives on the scoundrel’s tracks, and you bet Arthur 
Kent will see that he gets the limit of the law! 
Government offense, misusing the mails. — Fetch 
up your letters and we’ll get a detective here before 
dinner and have the case ready for Arthur. Gerry, 
ring up the Chief of Police. 

Lady-fair — ( Seizing Gerry in frantic restraint ). 
No, no, you’re mad! Wait — wait till I prove it to 
your parents — 

Mrs. Newcome — Dinner’ll be pretty cold before 
you convince me. ( Gerry smiles at his mother and 
quietly removes Lady-fair s hand from his arm). 

Lady-fair — You are making it hard, oh so hard 
for me! 

Mrs. Newcome — ’Tain’t so very amusin’ for us. 

Lady-fair — ( Directing her plea to the father). 
Don’t you know that if I hadn’t been sure, wretch- 
edly sure from the first, I would have employed a 
detective — 

Mr. Newcome — ( With a start). You are a 


24 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


sensible little woman after all. 

Lady-fair a week ago and spared myself this 

torturing delay. Oh, what a week of shame and 
regret and doubt and terror it has been! I would 
not believe, yet I dared not disbelieve — and Gerry 
would give me no opportunity — 

Gerry — As I explained, I’ve been getting en- 
gaged to Dizzy. 

Mrs. Newcome — Well, if that ain’t a good ex- 
cuse, I don’t know what is! — an’ seems to me if his 
mother don’t complain of being neglected, you 
oughtn’t. 

Lady-fair — You don’t understand — he has 

avoided me! 

Gerry — Imagination ! 

Mr. Newcome — Let’s stick to facts, Lady-fair. 

Lady-fair — ( She looks from one unsympathetic 
face to the other , then opens her left hand with al- 
most unconquerable reluctance and smoothes out a 
folded paper). Here is one of the letters. I have 
two more just like it, word for word, and the writ- 
ing is Gerry’s, with hardly any attempt at disguise — 
as if he wanted me to suspect him and put the money 
there without comment. Oh, can’t you see the whole 
miserable subterfuge ? — not criminal so much as 
thoughtless, unmanly, selfish, unprincipled — ( She 

chokes , turns away her head and holds out the letter 
to Mr. Newcome. But before he can take it , she 
snatches it back and goes impulsively to Gerry). 
Write me one more letter, Gerry, — so I can be sure, 
sure! (His spontaneous laughter at the humor of 
the request wins smiles from his parents). 

Gerry — You’ll have to dictate it — or lend me 
the sample. (He seats himself at the table and 


ACT I 


25 


draws a sheet of paper toward him , then hesitates, 
with hand suspended, and looks up inquiringly as 
she bends over him). Does your correspondent use 
pen or pencil? 

Lady-fair — ( Tensely unmindful of his facetious- 
ness). Pencil, always a pencil. 

Gerry — Blunt, I dare say! — that’s the regula- 
tion — {He calmly breaks the point of one too 
neatly sharpened, and Mr. Newcome takes out his 
handkerchief, mops his forehead and blows his nose, 
while Mrs. Newcome leans back in her chair, pla- 
cidly fanning, and the laces of Lady-fair s bodice re- 
veal the pounding of her heart and throb of pulses as 
she dictates in a low , distinct voice). 

Lady-fair — “Mrs. Benjamin Cross, Dear 

Madam : — I am in urgent need of $2,000” — 

Gerry — {Without looking up). Figures or 
spelled ? 

Lady-fair — What is it? {The father and moth- 
er again smile). 

Gerry — {Amiably). How shall I write the 

amount — in figures or words? 

Lady-fair — Oh ! In figures — it’s always been in 
figures. {She resumes dictation, no longer looking 
at the letter in her hand, but watching every stroke 
of his pencil). “ — $2,000, and you might find your 
little son missing some day soon if you don’t put 
the money in one of your monogramed envelopes and 
lay it on top of the — ” {She stops , catches her 
breath sharply, stoops and snatches the paper from 
under his hand, fleeing with it to the other side of 
room, where she stands, breathless and trembling, as 
if she expected to be followed and the paper wrenched 
from her. Gerry tilts back from the table and re- 


26 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


gards her with a puzzled frown. Mrs. Newcome 
stops fanning and looks from one to the other dis- 
approvingly , while Mr. Newcomers hands close 
spasmodically and his face twitches in anxiety as 
Lady-fair demands in a nervous, high-pitched voice). 
Where did I say to lay the envelope? 

Mr. Newcome — {Faintly). I — I didn’t hear. 

Mrs. Newcome — Why, you said on top of the — 
the — I don’t believe I caught — 

Gerry — {Leaping to his feet and overturning his 
chair, while his face goes deadly white). The mail- 
box! — you heard her say “mail-box,” didn’t you, 
Dad? 

Mr. Newcome — No-o, I can’t say as I did, my 
son. 

Gerry — {Springing to his mother s side and seiz- 
ing her by the shoulders) . You heard her say, “mail- 
box,” didn’t you, Mumsey darling? — {She looks 
uncertain) . For God sake say yes! 

Mrs. Newcome — {Stroking his drawn, white 
face, upturned imploringly as he kneels beside her 
chair). Of course she said letter — I mean mail-box 
— just as plain as print. I ain’t deef if I am gettin’ 
old. What’s the difference whether she said it or 
not? {Mr. Newcome groans and bows his head). 

Lady-fair — ( Excitedly , but not triumphantly). 
He knew what to write — without dictation. {Gerry 
throws her a swift look of baffled, boyish rage and 
rises hurriedly at sound of a lively rat-a-tat-tat be- 
ing beaten on the hall door, while the continuous 
pressure of an electric button brings Duncan on an 
undignified trot). 

Duncan — That’s Miss Hermione all right! 
{Gerry is ahead of him in opening the door, and re- 


ACT I 


27 


ceives , literally in his arms , a white-furred figure 
topped by a rosy face of cold and confusion. She 
is accompanied by a professional looking man of about 
thirty).' 

Hermione — Aren’t you ashamed, Gerry New- 
come! 

Gerry — Overwhelmed! — don’t I look it? Much 
obliged, Kent. 

Hermione — You do look — somehow! — all of you 
do — but I wasn’t expecting the door to open so sud- 
denly, and I was dead tired from walking up — 

Mrs. Newcome — What’s wrong with the eleva- 
tor? 

Hermione — Arthur’s fault — he rings at the floor 
below from force of habit. — Why, she’s up here — 
as usual ! ( Mr. Newcome greets her , and Kent at- 

taches himself to Lady-fair without hesitancy or con- 
cealment). 

Lady- fair — I — I was just leaving. Will you 
come with me, Arthur? 

Kent — Whenever you’re ready. 

Hermione — Will you take the elevator or stroll 
down by the dim light of the hall’s subdued illumi- 
nation ? 

Mrs. Newcome — They won’t do nary — neithei 
one. They’re goin’ to stay to dinner. Extry nap- 
kins and plates is already bespoke. Now, that’s 
not right — what had I ought to say, Gerry? 

Gerry — Covers laid, Mumsey dear, — but it’s all 
the same. (He is helping and hindering in the re- 
moval of Hermione* s hat-pins). 

Kent — (To Lady-fair in an undertone). Do we 
have to stay ? I was counting on — 

Lady-fair — I’d like to, if you don’t mind. I — 


28 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


I’ve hurt them once tonight. 

Hermione — ( Noticing Gerry s gloomy eyes fixed 
upon one gloved hand). I’m wearing my ring — I’ll 
take off my gloves as soon as they have eyes for 
somebody besides Lady-fair. ( She turns down the 
glove and offers him a peep. He closes his eyes so 
quickly she laughs). Dazzling isn’t it? It’s some 
ring for even Gerry Newcome! Ethel’s couldn’t 
have cost more than five hundred if this was only two 
thousand — 

Gerry. — Hermione ! 

Hermione. — What's the matter? Is there any 
crime — 

Gerry. — ( Controlling himself with an effort) 
Discussing the price of a thing takes all the senti- 
ment out of it. 

Hermione. — You don’t have to live on an allow- 
ance, or the price of things would — 

Gerry. — If I ever hear you mention the price of 
that ring again, I’ll swear it’s a hundred dollar Bar- 
rios! ( She gasps and changes the subject). 

Hermione — I’ve brought back — what you asked. 
Don’t — don’t my hair need fussing up? 

Mrs. Newcome. — There’s a lookin’-glass back 
of you. 

Gerry — ( Winking at his mother). Privacy is 
desirable for — er — primping. ( They slip between 
the portieres into the drawingroom) . 

-Mrs. Newcome — It’s a wonder that boy ain’t 
conceited — the way the girls court him. Mrs. Bryce 
told me that her son told her one night after he’d 
took a girl home in her own limbersine — not even 
havin’ to supply the taxi — that Julie asked — 

Mr. Newcome — Ha, ha! Julie, eh? 


ACT I 


29 


Kent — ( Shaking a finger at her). Perkins? 
( Lady-fair is sad and preoccupied) . 

Mrs. Newcome — Goodness! I didn’t mean to 
tell name and tale too; but it was that flip Julie Per- 
kins. Mrs. Bryce said Julie asked Lonny to kiss her. 
Well, would you believe it, when his ma asked him 
if he did, he said, “No, mommer, I didn’t. I took 
her to the theatre and give her candy and flowers, 
and I thought I’d done enough for her.” ( Even 
Lady-fair s laughter mingles with that of the men, 
and the young people hurry back into the room look- 
ing self-conscious) . 

{All pair off — Gerry questioning his mother about 
the laughter , Mr. Newcome holding the hand of his 
daughter-in-law-to-be and admiring her ring , and 
Kent seizing the opportunity to draw Lady-fair 
aside). 

Kent — How soon after dinner can we cut this? 
You’ve been so good to me today I’m beginning to 
hope — Does it mean something at last, dear? 

Lady-fair — No, no, Arthur, I never dreamed of 
your construing it that way — 

Kent — Wish was father to the thought. Don’t 
let it worry you. 

Lady-fair — I — I’ve been so worried all week — 
blue and heartsick, and you were so kind to me to- 
day — 

Kent — Kind to myself. 

Lady-fair — — you made me forget everything 
for a little while, and I suddenly longed to confide 
in you, to ask your advice — your professional advice, 
Arthur — and I had you come this evening especially 
for that purpose — 

Kent — You couldn’t have a more zealous ad- 


30 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


viser. 

Lady-fair — There’s no use now — it’s hopeless. 

Mrs. Newcome — ( With a nod in the direction 
of Kent and Lady -fair). They’ll make a match of 
it yet. 

Gerry — She’d be silly to give up a million dollars 
for him! 

Mrs. Newcome — I wish he was lawyer enough 
to break that fool will. 

Kent — {In answer to some reproof). I think of 
it every waking moment, and dream — 

Lady-fair — D on’t, please don’t. 

Kent — I wish you’d let me try to break it. What 
more natural? I was a witness to it and my father 
drew it up. He told me just before his death you 
could break it any time you wished and take the 
third the law allows you — 

Lady-fair — But I don’t wish — to break the will, 
I mean — not that I object to giving up part of the 
money. 

Kent — I urge it because I feel responsible in a 
way — it was jealousy of me that made the crazy 
old fool — 

Lady-fair — Arthur ! 

Kent — I beg your pardon! — made your husband 
perpetrate such an act of injustice. I should feel it 
my duty to help you break the will even if you 
wished to marry some one else — Lady-fair, do you 
love any — 

Mrs. Newcome — {Checking Gerry's scowling 
impulse). Sit tight now — somethin’s going to hap- 
pen there if nobody butts in. 

Lady-fair — {Looking at Kent frankly). No, 
Arthur, not in that way. I like you better — 


ACT I 


3i 


Kent — Then I shall make you love me! Benja- 
min Cross, vampire-like, consumed enough of your 
young life the miserable, helpless — ( She throws out 
a deterring hand and he catches it with a smile). 
— years he hung on, without cutting you off from a 
love you could share. I can’t ask you to sacrifice all 
your fortune to marry me, but I feel justified in urg- 
ing you to break that iniquitous will and retain lux- 
ury for yourself while accepting my life’s devotion. 
(She studies him waveringly , and he awaits her deci- 
sion with repressed eagerness) . 

Hermione — ( Cajolingly , while she takes Mr. 
Newcome by the lapels of his dinner-coat) . Why 
do you want to change Gerry ? He’s the nicest chap 
I know. 

Mr. Newcome-— Don’t you want a husband that 
could support you if — 

Hermione — I’d rather have a father-in-law — like 
you. 

Mrs. Newcome — (To Gerry). Hermiony’s 
feathering her nest. 

Gerry — Getting on the good side of Dad ? She’s 
a wise girl. 

Lady-fair — (To Kent with a sigh). The will 
was an expression of my husband’s wishes, and I 
can’t consent to thwart the dead . . . Arthur 

— would you take me without the third ? 

Kent — I’m afraid to let you sacrifice all your for- 
tune for me — you might reproach me afterwards, 
when you longed for the luxuries of the old days — 

Lady-fair — My earliest days were not days of 
wealth, but of strain and struggle to maintain the 
position to which we were born; yet they were my 
happiest days — happiest except for little Benjamin. 


32 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Ah, Arthur, there is my compensation. Selfish, ex- 
acting, jealous tho’ he was, my husband gave me one 
treasure he could not will away — my child ! 

Kent — I’d give five years of my life if both of 
you were mine ! 

Mrs. Newcome — I hope you two ain’t quarreling. 
Mr. Kent looks most ready to eat you. (She laughs 
across the room at them , rises and follows Gerry to 
ivhere his father and fiancee are arguing). What’s 
the row in this corner? Never saw so much energy 
goin’ to waste in one evenin’. Gerry and me has 
been havin’ a little love-feast in our corner, haven’t 
we, my boy? 

Gerry — (With a catch in his voice). Mumsey’s 
a perpetual love-feast, thank Heaven! 

Hermione — Your father isn’t — when he tries to 
mix you and business. He says you couldn’t earn 
enough to feed a humming-bird if he disinherited you, 
and he’s going to give you a chance to learn — 

Lady-fair — Are you? 

Hermione — As if going to work at this late date 
wouldn’t spoil our plans entirely! 

Mr. Newcome — There you go again — making 
me out a regular old marplot — (Kent and Gerry 
laugh and raise protesting hands). I know now 
why Gerry calls you “Dizzy” — you make me dizzy — 

Mrs. Newcome — My! Daddy, but you’re im- 
polite. 

Mr. Newcome — I thought I was tellin’ her some- 
thing that’d make her proud, when she ups and 
good as accuses me of envy in’ my own son his good 
looks and refinement — (Gerry bows mockingly to 
her). — and chance of enjoying his youth. I give in 
— this generation’s too much for me! I know how 


ACT I 


33 


to make money, but I don’t seem to know how to 
make a man of my son. ( His voice breaks and he sits 
down sadly). 

Hermione — You’re a dear old Daddy to give in ! 
I knew you weren’t going to spoil everything. 

Lady-fair — Isn’t Gerry to have his chance? 

Mr. Newcome — What’s the use? — they’ve got 
it all settled and couldn’t — 

Lady-fair — They can wait. 

Gerry — Some chaps are born with sisters, some 
adopt sisters, and some have sisters thrust upon 
them! (His mother laughs, but Kent frowns). 

Lady- fair — Arthur, will you and Hermione go 
down to my apartment and visit with Benjamin a 
few minutes? There’s — there’s something we were 
discussing when you came in that must be settled at 
once. It — it would be a death’s-head at our feast 
if not decently interred before dinner. ( She tries 
to smile lightly). 

Hermione — A family skeleton? — I’m entitled 
to a view, am I not, Gerry? 

Gerry — This is a ghost Lady-fair has raised. 

Hermione — ( Over her shoulder as Kent pushes 
her smilingly, but firmly, toward the door). Lady- 
fair ought to run an orphan-asylum or a poker- 
room — she’s keen on “raising.” (No one laughs, 
and she opens her eyes and purses her lips, stooping 
to put the door on the latch and stealing a second 
glance at the suddenly grave group). 

Lady-fair — (The instant the door closes). It 
seems to me the fruitless effort of my life has been 
to save Gerry from the results of your yielding de- 
votion. 

Gerry — And your salvation-lassie role is begin- 


34 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


ning to pall on me. 

Mrs. Newcome — Don’t be cross with her, my 
boy — she’s the only sister you ever had, and maybe 
Daddy an’ me ain’t eggsactly strict with you. 

Gerry — Ha, ha! one would think I was still in 
curls and knickerbockers! 

Lady-fair — You are too young to marry, Gerry. 

Gerry — So were you. 

Lady-fair — I was never young! I was cheated 
of my youth as you are being cheated of your man- 
hood. I was a mortgage, you are a plaything. Re- 
sponsibility made a woman of me before I was a girl, 
and the lack of it is making a weakling of you before 
you have awakened to what life means. The first 
criminal — no, the first w/zmoral impulse I tried to 
check in you was the day we were five years old 
and you took money from Mumsey’s purse to cele- 
brate our birthday. I asked where you got so much 
money, and you turned your beautiful, saucy baby- 
face to me and said, “I dess took it.” I tried with 
all my immature might to explain that it was steal- 
ing and you would be punished. You pursed your 
lips and chuckled, “Mumsey don’t fwip ; she tisses.” 
I refused to be treated with stolen money and seized 
you by the arm and dragged your little white-clad, 
angelic body to your mother for the spanking she re- 
fused to administer — 

Mrs. Newcome — {In tearful , delighted recollec- 
tion). Yes, an’ you looked for all the world like a 
fierce little terrier with a roly-poly lamb in tow! 
{Mr. Newcome is not smiling, and Gerry s eyes are 
darkening with anxiety and anger). 

Lady-fair — You may have been right not to pun- 
ish that way, but, oh, I wish you hadn’t said, “Mum- 


ACT I 


35 


sey’s purse is Gerry’s !” 

Mrs. Newcome — Well, it was — an’ what’s 
more, it always will be. 

Lady-fair — Your purse is his; he has made his 
father’s bank-account his, and now my heart-strings 
are his to play upon for what is justly called filthy 
lucre when it dims and sullies and pollutes the soul’s 
image of God if handled without the shield of Hon- 
or! ( A sob threatens to cut her short , but she chokes 
it back, almost literally with one hand while the oth- 
er reaches out in imperative demand not to be inter- 
rupted'). — and you have not woven this shield about 
him ! He satisfies your pride and love, and you give 
no thought to the moral crises of life that pride and 
love will be powerless to help him meet. Already his 
career is marked by theft, forgery, black-mail — Dear 
God! is there no hand but my puny one to stop his 
headlong course toward — ( All three start violently 
— Mrs. Newcome, in her chair where she has alter- 
nately smiled, frowned and wiped away tears at the 
pictures conjured up; Mr. Newcome, at the table 
where he stands supported by a hand that trembles 
visibly and with his head bowed as if before the Judg- 
ment Bar; and Gerry, in furious despair that is the 
climax of impatience, scorn, anxiety, fear and final 
realization of his position. .She turns away from all, 
checking their remonstrances with a gesture of sob- 
bing finality; but turns back to Gerry, holding out 
her arms, as to a child, and pleads). Won’t you let 
me save you, Gerry? I can do it — I know how, if 
you will let me. Promise to do what I ask of you — 
in atonement for this unthinking crime you have 
committed against me! 

Gerry — ( Ignoring the oustretched hands). Why 


36 GERRY’S AWAKENING 


ask a thing you have the power to demand ? 
Name your terms! — but with such an opinion of me, 
I can’t imagine why you consider me worth saving. 
(A lively rat-a-tat-tat, as the door opens , warns them 
into unbetraying attitudes and expressions). 

Hermione — (Peeping in , and holding by the 
hand a golden-haired boy of five). It’s been ever so 
many more than “a few” minutes, and Arthur want- 
ed to wait till we were called, but — (Little Benja- 
min breaks away and rushes to Gerry and is caught 
up in a familiar swing before being set on his feet 
abruptly, while Gerry turns away, crimson with 
chagrin at the unguarded impulse). 

Lady-fair — (Softly, at his elbow). That is why 
I think you worth saving — a child’s instincts are 
seldom wrong. (Turning to Kent, she says for all 
to hear). Arthur, I want to place in your hands a 
sealed package, to be kept until certain conditions are 
complied with — or burned unopened if anything hap- 
pened to me before — 

Kent — Could it cause anything to happen to you ? 

Mrs. Newcome — My stars, Arthur Kent, a 
body’d think she was hiding a crime — 

Mr. Newcome — Is it necessary, Lady-fair, to 
bring in a lawyer f 

Gerry — (Laughing discordantly) . It would prove 
a boomerang if it fulfilled her own prophecy of pris- 
on or the electric-chair as my goal! (Everybody 
makes some shuddering disclaimer). 

Lady- fair — O — oh! what a grewsome thing to 
be a lawyer! No, Arthur, my little package will not 
contain my last will and testament, or the key to 
hidden treasures, or in fact anything the least bit 
spooky. 


ACT I 


37 


Kent — Do you mind telling the nature of the 
contents? 

Lady-fair — Certainly not — er — just some “doc- 
uments in evidence” of a compact between Gerry and 
me — a wager, penance, debt of honor, whatever you 
please to imagine it — and I want to put it out of my 
reach, so I can’t — can’t change my mind. The pack- 
age will contain — ( Everyone leans a little for- 
ward). — the — the explanation why Gerry is going 
to pay me two thousand dollars — 

Hermione — (To Gerry, in jealous curiosity). 
The price of my ring? (He gives her a look that 
makes her quail). 

Lady-fair earned by himself as a mechanical 

engineer. 

Mr. Newcome — Hurray for the little task-mis- 
tress ! 

Kent — A life-contract, unless there’s something 
off for good intentions. 

Lady-fair — Not one penny! (Kent gives her a 
searching look as her eyes seek the amazed Gerry's). 

Mrs. Newcome — Why, Lady-fair, Daddy’ll give 
you two thousand dollars or twenty thousand, if 
that’ll satisfy you — but I don’t want to hear no 
more foolishness about Gerry’s workin’ at that dirty 
trade he learned at college. He’d never get his 
finger-nails clean in kingdom-come. 

Lady-fair — The matter is settled. There is more 
than a money obligation, and Gerry concedes me the 
right— 

Gerry — The power. 

Lady-fair to enforce my own terms. I limit 

him in neither time nor amount of payments, but 
merely require that he take a position at once and 


38 GERRY’S AWAKENING 

gradually cancel his debt. 

Hermione — Debt ! debt ! You know what to call 
it to make Gerry your slave! 

Lady-fair — Of course it must be from his salary, 
and not from any money secured from speculation, 
gifts, or by any means other than personal work 
or merit in the profession for which he has a college 
degree. 

Kent — You are assuming a grave burden. (Mr. 
Newcome is talking earnestly and compellingly to his 
wife). 

Hermione — How are we to spend our honey- 
moon abroad if Gerry’s got to go to work and pay 
off a — a debt of honor to you? 

Lady-fair — Such an incentive should make him 
work with all the force and energy and perseverance 
in him. 

Hermione — {Petulantly) . If we have to wait 
till he earns two thousand dollars by his own work, 
the girls who came out with me will be offering 
their children for ring-bearer at my wedding! 

Gerry — I will earn — and pay — every penny of it 
Lady — Shylock ! 


CURTAIN 


ACT II 


Scene — The foyer of Lady-fairs apartment imme- 
diately under the N ewcomes. The furnishings , color 
and atmosphere of feminine occupancy leave nothing 
of similarity between the two apartments except the 
enclosing walls. The rooms are lighted and decor- 
ated for entertaining. Violin music , followed by 
applause and the hum of voices , indicates a musicale. 
The hands of a large clock point to the hour of 
eleven. 

Hermione and Gerry are seated on a divan , at left , 
out of range of the drawingroom , their silence and 
gloomy faces not at all in keeping with their dress 
and surroundings. 

Hermione — I hate her! I hate her! What made 
you insist on my coming to her party? 

Gerry — Lady-fair’s invitations, like those of roy- 
alty, are commands. 

Hermione — That’s no joke. She’s tried all her 
life to rule you, and now she’s doing it with a ven- 
geance. You rule your parents and won’t let them 
interfere, so there you are ! — tied to an apron-string, 
and not your mother’s either! 

Gerry- — Y ou’re not choice of your words — 

Hermione — Yes I am — I choose them to express 
just what I mean. I’d never come near her again, 
after the way she meddled with our affairs, if you 
didn’t make such a point of it — as if you’re afraid 
to offend her — 

Gerry — You are going too far, Hermione. 

39 


40 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Hermione — One has to go pretty far — to keep 
up with a widow! ( His patience seems so nearly 
exhausted that she changes her tone). How much 
longer are you going to submit, Gerry? 

Gerry — Till I get back — till my debt is paid. 

Hermione — Have you any idea when — {He gets 
up hurriedly and walks away. She also rises). 

Gerry — {Coming back). I suppose you have the 
right to ask — considering that our marriage is being 
held up by it. 

Hermione — Engagement, too! I can’t be engag- 
ed — {He looks down at her ringed hand and she 
shrugs). — I’m wearing the ring to spite her — she 
shan’t have the ring and the money, too. 

Gerry — Give me that ring! 

Hermione — Oh, Gerry, don’t be mean! You 
can’t expect me to feel engaged to a man that’s pay- 
ing a sort of alimony — 

Gerry — A what ? 

Hermione — That debt-of-honor thing! — Do you 
know what I suspect ? 

Gerry — {Gloomily). Nothing within a thous- 
and guesses of the truth, I’d swear. 

Hermione — I’m not so sure about that. {He 
looks at her in quick anxiety). I believe it’s for fall- 
ing in love with me — for making her second, don’t 
you see? — a sort of breach of — {He laughs aloud in 
nervous relief , but subdues it instantly , glancing 
toward the drawingroom , and drops down on the 
divan again). 

Gerry — Oh Lord, Dizzy, I haven’t laughed so 
much since I became a workingman! — A million- 
airess demanding two thousand dollars for breach of 
promise! Promise of what? — to remain her kid 


ACT II 


4i 


brother always? 

Hermione — There’s where you are a kid! She’s 
been in love with you — 

Gerry — Cut it out! — green eyes don’t go with 
your complexion. 

Hermione — Maybe not exactly in love, but she’s 
loved you every way imaginable — from the time she 
threw away her dolls to play with you, all thro’ child- 
hood, girlhood, wifehood, and — and now widow- 
hood , which I know must be — be dangerous. 

Gerry — Rot ! 

Hermione — It’s horrid truth! A disgusting old 
husband like hers was enough to make a woman 
want to be loved by young— 

Gerry — Don’t be silly. Your jealousy is flat- 
tering, but too farfetched to be even amusing. 

Hermione — {Spitefully) . I haven’t said any- 
thing about her wanting to marry you — she wouldn’t 
give up a million dollars for you, however infatuated 
she might be — {He bows ironically). She won’t 
give up even two-thirds of it for Arthur. 

Gerry — {With quick, frowning interest). How 
“two-thirds” for him? 

Hermione — Oh — somehow! thro’ being one of 
the witnesses to her husband’s will, — some inside 
information you know — nothing crooked, just weak 
or technical or something. Anyway, he told me in 
confidence — or a huff, rather — that she wouldn’t 
have to impoverish herself to marry him — he could 
break the will and save at least a third for her. 

Gerry — So-o! I begin to understand your cous- 
in’s perseverance. A few hundred thousand isn’t ex- 
actly poverty. 

Hermione — No; and that makes Arthur’s suit 


42 GERRY’S AWAKENING 

less — less presumptuous, egotistic, and that don’t you 
see, than any other man’s — tho’, for my part, I think 
she prefers being a rich young widow with several 
admirers, and if she can keep Arthur dangling and 
prevent you from marrying me — 

Gerry — ( Coming over to her). Can she? Am 
I not worth waiting for a little while? — have you no 
confidence in me? 

Hermione — Yes, of course, but — but — I’m the 
last one of my set, and — and you don’t seem to 
progress very — 

Gerry — I secured the best position open to me 
at the time, and am now getting a hundred dollars 
at the beginning of this my third month — which isn’t 
bad, if you only understood how a fellow has to work 
up in that sort of thing. Then you know I don’t 
have to spend the money for anything else, and I 
turn over to her my envelope each week — 

Hermione — L ike a common laborer to his wife 
— ugh! 

Gerry — ( Gritting his teeth). You’re not mak- 
ing my humiliation any the easier to bear. 

Hermione — Forgive me, Gerry, — and — buy me 
something with this month’s salary. 

Gerry — Never ! — I beg your pardon — the oc- 
casion doesn’t call for quite so much vehemence; 
but I couldn’t spend any of this money on you — er 
— until I get rid of that infernal debt, you see. It 
won’t take more than a year — 

Hermione — A year — of dirty drudgery like the 
past two months? — to say nothing of being almost 
useless to me socially — 

Gerry — I’m sorry, Hermione, but I’m so dead 
tired after ten hours of dirt and noise and Dago- 


ACT II 


43 


chatter, if I didn’t get to bed early I’d never be 
able to hold down my job. ( His moody eyes fol- 
low her cynical glance toward the clock , while the 
beginning of another number on the program makes 
him sigh wearily. They wander about the room in 
depressed silence. Little Benjamin and his nurse 
come from the drawingroom , and he rushes to Gerry 
who grips his hands behind his back as the child rubs 
affectionately against him and looks up surprised at 
the treatment). Goodnight, Benjamin, sleep tight, 
and keep old Sandman till broad daylight. (He 
looks down into the child's upturned face , lips pursed 
for a kiss , and a spasm of pain crosses his own face , 
but his hands remain behind his back). 

Marie — Come, Benjamin, it’s after little boy’s 
bedtime. ( She ushers her small charge out of the 
room with a surprised backward glance). 

Hermione — Why don’t you chuck the whole tire- 
some business? 

Gerry — I can’t — it’s a debt of honor. 

Hermione — Rubbish! — it’s spite-money, or why 
did she demand just the price of my ring? (His 
look frightens her). I — I wouldn’t hint that to 
anybody else — 

Gerry — I’m surprised at your — delicacy! 

Hermione — You’r getting cross as sticks. It 
wouldn’t be any worse for you than for her if it 
were made public — 

Gerry — You don’t understand — 

Hermione — Maybe I do — better than you think. 
Of course you’re sensitive — boys hate to be trapped 
by clever young widows — 

Gerry — Trapped ? 

Hermione — You are not falling over yourself to 


44 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


deny it. 

Gerry — There’s no mistake about her trapping 
me — I walked in and sat down on the spring! 

Hermione — I was sure of it — but you were not 
to blame — widows are so tricky. {Lady -fair, com- 
ing from the drawingroom, starts and colors, but 
passes on thro ' the archway without attracting atten- 
tion). I don’t know but what I like you better for 
your little affair — sort of educating, don’t you know? 
makes you more worldly-wise and all that, more like 
champagne instead of milk — 

Gerry — Dizzy, for the Lord’s sake shut up ! 
you’re talking thro’ your bonnet — with a bee in it 
that stings like a gadfly — 

Hermione — Your conscience is too tender — 
you’re no match for a woman that’s been married — 
Gerry — {Turning hurriedly to a statuette). This 
— this Narcissus is an exquisite thing. The — the 
Greeks worshipped youth and beauty — 

Hermione — So does Lady-fair. {He turns away 
so sharply that she exclaims). Be careful — you’ll 
upset more “youth and beauty” on that table back 
of you. That’s her real altar — your and Benjamin’s 
pictures — her Lares and Penates. I dare say she 
burns candles before ’em, if one could only get a 
peep in here after lights are turned out — What are 
you doing? {As he picks up the larger of the two 
gold frames and begins to remove the back). 

Gerry — Preparing to offer you a dethroned house- 
hold god. 

Hermione — {Snatching it from his hand). Good- 
ness ! she’d consider it burglary and put you in prison 
instead of a shop — why, Gerry, you’re nervous as a 
cat ! That comes of working too hard. If she could 


ACT II 


45 


see how unstrung you are, she’d be sorry — Why 
don’t you appeal to her love — 

Gerry — I wouldn’t ask a favor of her to save my 
life! She shall have the two thousand dollars if I 
have to sweat blood for it! 

Hermione — My! how you’ve changed. 

Gerry — I hate her! 

Hermione — Oh — but you mustn’t let her know 
it till you get back your letters! 

Gerry — Letters — what letters ? 

Hermione — ( Slipping her arm thro * his). Love- 
letters, stupid ! — don’t you think I know what “doc- 
uments in evidence” means? (He covers her hand 
with his and turns away an instant ). Why, Gerry, 
you’re trembling — how awfully innocent you are! 
It’d take more of an “affair” than that to shock me — 
but I’d advise you to wheedle your Platonic sister 
out of the package before she learns of your disen- 
chantment — ha, ha! ( She stops in embarrassment as 
they meet Kent coming from the drawingroom. Kent 
gives Gerry a searching look as he steps aside for 
them to pass. Lady-fair appears at the archway, and 
Kent hurries across the room to intercept her). 

Kent — C an’t I have you a few moments to my- 
self? 

Lady-fair — I’ve been to say goodnight to Ben- 
jamin, and my guests — 

Kent — are admirably entertained by your ’cello- 
ist. Listen! (Applause from the drawingroom). 
That means an encore. Stay with me — please. I 
ask so little, when I want so much! (He looks at 
her longingly). I’m sorely tempted to take some- 
thing without asking. (She draws back in confus- 
ion). 


46 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Lady-fair — It would be fatal to our friendship. 

Kent — I would risk love’s taking its place — if 
you were different. Madonna-natures are not over- 
come by force; weakness appeals to them. I might 
have won you long ago if I’d needed you instead — 

Lady-fair — If you don’t need me — 

Kent — You know what I mean — I’m no moral 
weakling, to be bolstered up by a woman — 

Lady-fair — You, too, condemn me? 

Kent — Not condemn, but fear for you. I’m 
anxious — you’ve made me exceedingly anxious by 
this latest effort to make something out of Gerry 
Newcome. He is restive and resentful under the 
peculiar obligation he seems to have incurred. Are 
you wise in coercing a nature that has never known 
restraint, self-denial, any law superior to his own 
desires — one utterly incapable of an act of self-sacri- 
fice — 

Lady-fair — How do you know ? — he’s never been 
tested. 

Kent — Anyway, I wish you hadn’t changed your 
mind about that package. Couldn’t you tell me, pro- 
fessionally — 

Lady-fair — Impossible. 

Kent — At least tell me whether Gerry, if he 
knew you still had this package, might not be tempt- 
ed to — 

Lady-fair — No, no, certainly not! He’s a spoil- 
ed boy, but a gentleman, and he loves me — 

Kent — He is no longer a boy — and are you quite 
sure he loves you now ? 

Lady-fair — He’s angry of course, but a brother 
is often angry at a sister who — 


ACT II 


47 


Kent — You are not his sister. 

Lady-fair — We’ve never known the difference 
until — 

Kent — and, moreover, a man twenty-five years 
old— 

Lady-fair — {Lightly). Sh-h his age is my age. 

Kent — however little of a man he may be, will 
not tamely submit to being tied to the apron-string of 
a woman — 

Lady-fair — He isn’t tied to my apron-string — as 
you so elegantly put it. I didn’t know you could be 
so disagreeable. 

Kent — By what extraordinary power do you rev- 
olutionize his entire life — delay, if not frustrate, his 
marriage — cow his plain-spoken mother into sullen 
submission, and oppose even a father’s choice of voca- 
tion for an only son and heir — 

Lady-fair — Mr. Newcome always wanted him 
to be an engineer. 

Kent — He couldn’t enforce his wishes ; while you 
— I think I put it midly when I say “tied” — 

Lady-fair — You’re horridly suspicious — you’re 
all lawyer. 

Kent — I’m all lover! 

Lady-fair — Then you’re jealous — which explains 
everything. {He refuses to be diverted by her rail- 
lery). 

Kent — I’d be jealous of any cub that received the 
care and thought you bestow upon Gerry Newcome 
— and afraid of its bite if I suspected it of rabies. 

Lady-fair — Such odious comparisons! — and all 
to explain why you don’t need me and my fortune 
which really has a string tied to it. 

Kent — I can cut that string — if you’ll only con- 


48 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


sent. I’m not rich, but Fm not hopelessly ineligible, 
and if it weren’t for that confounded will that’d 
make us parents of a million-dollar boy whose guar- 
dianship would be a source of suspicion as well as 
revenue — 

Lady-fair — Really, Arthur, you seem more fa- 
miliar with the terms of the will than I. 

Kent — Benjamin Cross meant that I should be — 
he wanted me to know what I was up against — er — 
what I’d be depriving you of, if I tried to be his 
successor. 

Lady-fair — Don’t ever mention that will to me 
again ! 

Kent — Marry me and let the money go hang. 

Lady- fair — Why — I — I’ll consider that, Arthur. 
(She holds out both hands to him in a little burst 
of appreciation. He seizes them and is about to go 
further when Mr. and Mrs. Newcome come from 
the drawingroom and stop in unsmiling oblivious- 
ness). You are’nt going already? 

Mrs. Newcome — ( With none of her old good 
humor or cordiality) . Me an’ Daddy are early birds 
an’ ought to been to roost hours ago. 

Mr. Newcome — We’ve enjoyed the music, tho’, 
and it’s livened us up. 

Mrs. Newcome — Your party was very nice, but 
not a bit like what I’ve heard about music-halls. 
(Kent looks at Lady-fair who is struggling with a 
smile and laughs in spite of her frown). 

Kent — Lady-fair’s musicales run to classics rather 
than popular. 

Mrs. Newcome — S eems she’s been listenin’ to a 
mighty popular tune out here. 

Lady-fair — (Teased). Arthur prefers the music 


ACT II 


49 


of his own voice — 

Mrs. Newcome — While he fingers his own ac- 
companiments? — Well, well, be happy while you 
can. Life’s mighty dull after the music of young 
folk’s laughter ’s gone out of it. Goodnight! 

Lady-fair — I’ve been dull, too — can’t you find 
more time for me? ( She holds the elder womans 
hand and looks at her wistfully). 

Mrs. Newcome — You generally have company — 
if ’tain’t Mr. Kent it’s somebody else; an’ no use 
askin’ you up evenings, with this new — or I guess 
it’s more like old order of things — breakfast at 6 
o’clock for Gerry to go to work. We keep pretty 
early hours. Guess you don’t hear much trompin’ 
above you after 9 o’clock now. 

Lady-fair — {Wistfully) . Don’t you enjoy hav- 
ing your boy home with you of evenings? 

Mrs. Newcome — There ain’t much amusement 
to be got out of a person what spends most of his 
time in the bath-tub and bed. 

Mr. Newcome — {Turning from Kent , with 
whom he has been talking). Don’t worry, my dear. 
I know what you’re aimin’ at, but I’m afraid it’s too 
late — you can’t learn old dogs new tricks. Good- 
night ! 

Lady-fair — {Clinging to his hand). Gerry isn’t 
an old dog, Daddy Newcome — {They move off to- 
gether, talking in an earnest undertone). 

Kent — {To Mrs. Newcome) . Gerry is surpris- 
ing all of us with his unsuspected energy and perse- 
verance. Lady-fair seems to have understood him 
better — 

Mrs. Newcome — Don’t know whether she did 
or not. He’s gone into this thing like killin’ snakes, 


50 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


but I bet she don’t get invited to no St. Patrick cele- 
bration when he’s thro’. 

Kent — Has it — er — changed things much be- 
tween them? 

Mrs. Newcome — Changed? Humph! where’s 
your eyes ? They’ve been brother and sister ever since 
they was five year old apiece, and if her selfish father 
had a-died six months sooner, she’d never been sold 
to that gouty-brained old fossil, Ben Cross, but been 
adopted outright by us. 

Kent — I wish to Heaven she had ! 

Mrs. Newcome — We couldn’t a-give her no mil- 
lion dollars then, but what she’d had wouldn’t stood, 
between her and a husband that could a-give her a 
child a puff of wind wouldn’t blow away. 

Kent — Is little Benjamin — 

Mrs. Newcome — I’ve seen robuster youngsters! 
and without him, if she married again, the money 
wouldn’t even stay in her family. 

Kent — You were saying that she and Gerry had 
been estranged — 

Mrs. Newcome — Not eggsactly strangers — but 
you know how he used to make over her just like me, 
an’ eat breakfast with Benjamin when all us grown 
folks had had ourn — 

Kent — And all that has stopped? 

Mrs. Newcome — W ell, to be sure, he’s not home 
as much — 

Kent — Does he feel any resentment? 

Mrs. Newcome — Naturally the boy resents bein’ 
made — ( She stops with a gulp). Gerry ain’t no boy 
any longer — he’s twenty-five year — 

Kent — Gerry is not twenty in development! Ex- 
perience is the only teacher for a man — 


ACT II 


5i 


Mrs. Newcome — He’s gettin’ experience all 
right, and — oh, Mr. Kent, you ought to see his finger- 
nails when he comes home from the shops! ( Kent 
laughs outright , and Lady-fair dabs her eyes quickly 
with a handkerchief and turns with a smile). 

Lady-fair — Mumsey, bring Daddy and Gerry 
down to dinner with Benjamin and me tomorrow 
night. 

Kent — Am I left out? 

Lady-fair — {Gaily). You don’t belong under 
our roof. 

Mrs. Newcome — It sure is convenient visitin’ 
under the same roof a cold night — no wraps an’ fix- 
in’s. If we had a pole like a fire-department it ’d 
be even easier cornin’ than by the elevator. But I 
don’t think I’d best promise to come to dinner — 
Gerry mightn’t! {Lady-fair turns away to hide her 
disappointment) . You jest come up whenever you 
feel like it. {They go toward the door without fur- 
ther leave-taking. Kent opens it for them , says good- 
night and returns quickly , taking Lady-fair s hands 
in his and pressing them in sympathy) . 

Lady-fair — Shall I ever feel like running up 
there as of old! Oh, Arthur! one would think I 
was doing this thing for punishment, the way they 
take it. 

Kent — He must have deserved punishment or 
they wouldn’t — {She withdraws her hands quick- 
ly). Lady-fair, let me take that package home with 
me tonight? 

Lady-fair — It would be unfair to Gerry. 

Kent — Not so unfair as to keep it here — if he 
knows you have it. 

Lady-fair — I don’t understand — 


52 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Kent — It is not right to subject him to the temp- 
tation. 

Lady-fair — For shame, Arthur! Your suspicion 
is as unworthy of you as it is unmerited by Gerry. 
Besides, he thinks I gave the package to you. 

Kent — His parents also? 

Lady- fair — Yes, you are the only one who knows 
that I still have it. 

Kent — Promise me you will tell no one else — 
least of all Gerry. 

Lady-fair — I promise — least and last of all, 
Gerry. 

Kent — I’m not going to say goodnight yet, but 
I’m leaving — 

Lady-fair — Don’t you like my party? 

Kent — Too many here — I’m going across the hall 
and play pinochle with Harvey Miller till your 
guests are gone. 

Lady-fair — It will be too late — 

Kent — Not if “parting be such sweet sorrow” — 

Lady-fair — You and Harvey Miller are more 
likely to play cards “till it be morrow.” {He 
laughs triumpha?itly and starts for the door). Take 
your hat and coat, please, — in case luck is against 
you — luck in cards, I mean, and you can’t get 
away. {He enjoys her confusion, and on his return, 
as he passes her, bends a little to whisper). 

Kent — “Almost persuaded am I that thou art” — 
mine. {Gerry 1 s and Hermione J s entrance from the 
drawingroom saves an answer, and he continues on 
thro 1 archway for hat and coat, returning and merely 
waving goodnight to the three). 

Hermione — -We shall have to tear ourselves 
away — {Her tone and extended hand coldly con- 


ACT II 


53 


ventional). 

Lady-fair — So early — and before you’ve had 
anything to — 

Hermione — Gerry says late “eats” play the deuce 
with his sleeping, and he can’t afford that sort of 
thing while he’s in debt. Goodnight! we’ve had a 
perfectly beautiful time, Lady — Shylock! ( She rushes 
off for her wraps). 

Lady-fair — ( Reproachfully to Gerry). You still 
call me that? 

Gerry — I apologize. 

Lady-fair — Don’t — that hurts worse than the 
offense. 

Gerry — {Shrugging) . I’ve enjoyed the evening 
very — 

Lady-fair — Don’t again, please, Gerry, — be sin- 
cere even if you have to hurt me. 

Gerry — It’s been a lively evening for me, I as- 
sure you. {He glances down at the hand she has 
laid on his arm and laughs). Hermione’s tongue and 
imagination are twin wonders. 

Lady-fair — I didn’t count the cost — won’t you 
forgive me? I miss you so, and Benjamin is heart- 
broken — 

Gerry — ( Jerking away his arm). Do you think 
I’d touch that child after — 

Lady-fair — Come to dinner with us tomorrow 
night — with Benjamin and me. 

Gerry — Benjamin’s in bed before I’m presentable 
for dinner — 

Lady-fair — Come in your working clothes. {She 
places a hand on either shoulder and laughs up at 
him). I’d like awfully well to see you in overalls 
and a dirty face. 


54 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Gerry — Are you sure you don’t mean stripes and 
a shaved head? 

Lady-fair — ( Recoiling ). Gerry! 

( Hermione returns and they bow themselves out, 
while Lady-fair looks after them silently, bravos 
and handclapping follow the music from beyond, and 
a brief curtain or slow darkening of the stage indi- 
cates the lapse of a few hours. The scene following 
is the same except that the hands of the clock point 
to 2 A. M., the illumination is reduced to a single 
shaded light, and Lady-fair is robed in a negligee, 
with hair unbound and falling about her shoulders. 
Marie is hovering over her as she half -reclines among 
the pillows of the divan and motions azvay the light 
covering the maid would throw over her). 

Lady-fair — There’s no danger of my falling 
asleep, Marie — Benjamin’s sandman got tired wait- 
ing for me. 

Marie — Everybody seemed to enjoy the music, 
m’am. 

Lady-fair — I hope so. 

Marie — I don’t like to leave you up — 

Lady-fair — There’s nothing more you can do — 
I’m simply not sleepy. 

Marie — I mean, up here alone; but Nora’s people, 
on the first floor, are away, and she wants me to 
come down and sleep with her — she’s nervous. 

Lady-fair — Nervous — that’s what’s the matter 
with me, I suppose. ( The distant sound of a fire- 
engine makes her shudder) . 

Marie — Siren horns do give a body the “creeps.” 

Lady-fair — “The creeps” exactly expresses it, 
Marie — and I’m glad you are going to stay with 
your friend, so you can’t watch me. You are sure 


ACT II 


55 


Toto and Fuji are gone and everything is locked up? 

Marie — Maybe I’d better stay — 

Lady-fair — No, I want you to go — I want to be 
alone! But go and see that everything is bolted — 
dumb-waiter and all — then go down the front way 
and I’ll see that this door is locked. ( Marie exits , 
watching her). I want to be foolish, cry, go to 
pieces if I choose — ( Marie returns and goes out the 
front door, examining the latch before going. Lady- 
fair rises and walks about the room, clasping and un- 
clasping her hands, and struggling for self-control. 
She goes to the hall-door, opens it and examines the 
latch). Not latched! (She goes hurriedly out at left, 
returns more leisurely, but in a tense state of nerv- 
ousness, and goes over to the table on which are the 
two gold-framed pictures. She falls on her knees and 
draws both pictures toward her). Benjamin, my 
precious innocent one, I’m no longer afraid for you 
— it’s Gerry that fills my heart with terrible fore- 
bodings. . . . Gerry, Gerry, don’t you know I’m only 
treating you as I would my own child if his whole fu- 
ture were at stake? Can’t you understand your little 
mother’s love? . . . Oh Benjamin, Gerry hates 

me! (She drops her head on her arms and sobs). 
(The sound of a latch-key in her hall-door startles 
her and she listens tensely, without rising. The 
sound is repeated and followed by an impatient 
wrench at the knob which turns and admits a man. 
He flashes an amazed glance about him, then closes 
the door, leans against it and laughs). 

Lady-fair — Heavens! I thought it was Arthur! 
(She rises with a deep breath of relief). 

Gerry — (Ceasing to laugh). Kent? — Have you 
any idea what time of night it is ? 


56 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Lady-fair — I was afraid he hadn’t. He stopped 
to play cards with Harvey Miller — but how did you 
get in? 

Gerry — The door was on the latch. Er — I’ll 
remedy that, in case he’s still playing cards. {He 
reverses the latch and closes the door again , resuming 
his lounging attitude against it). 

Lady-fair — It’s so late, hadn’t you better go on 
up to bed? {His intent gaze renders her conscious 
of her negligee and she gathers up her hair into a 
loose knot — nervously letting it fall again , to draw 
the laces more closely about her throat). I’m glad 
it wasn’t Arthur — but how did you happen — 

Gerry — The Lord — or the Devil — only knows. 
Possibly one of those happy subconscious impulses 
that direct a chap in coping with a woman. Jove! 
I never before realized what an absolutely beautiful 
thing you are. 

Lady- fair — Gerry, are you drinking? 

Gerry — No, preternaturally sober — serious for 
the first time in my life, — not drinking, but think- 
ing. {He presses the electric button beside the door 
and floods the room with light , tosses soft hat and 
long heavy ulster aside and turns toward her in 
flannel-shirt-sleeves whose grimey smudges overlap 
onto the white skin of his bared throat). 

Lady-fair — {Forgetting negligee and the hour 
and seizing his soiled hands delightedly) . You are 
a really, truly workingman — {He jerks his hands 
away). Why, Gerry, dear, it makes me proud of 
you! — surely you are proud of yourself for earning 
something with your own brains and strength — but 
you musn’t work night and day, too. 

Gerry — I’m not doing extra time for extra pay, 


ACT II 


57 


if that’s what you mean. Was just called over to 
the shops after your party tonight by a chap I’ve 
-er- helped before when he’s gotten into trouble with 
his machinery — 

Lady-fair — You are able to help men who are 
more advanced than yourself? 

Gerry — ( Shrugging ). Merely pointed out a 
weak spot that escaped his eye. But I didn’t happen 
in here this time of night — morning — to talk shop. 

Lady-fair — How did you happen — 

Gerry — Walked up to avoid meeting anybody in 
the elevator with these dirty hands and face, and 
was so dead tired I thought I’d reached my own 
floor. 

Lady-fair — Poor boy, you must get to bed at 
once ! Go right on up to your rooms — 

Gerry — I find these more attractive — the femi- 
nine charm and appeal is fairly gripping, now that 
I’ve discovered it. Dizzy hinted that I’d been some- 
thing of a milksop, but by Jove this is champagney ! 

Lady-fair — It’s very late — 

Gerry — Early, you mean. 

Lady-fair — Gerry, you must go. 

Gerry — I think you have said “must” to me 
for the last time — 

Lady-fair — T hen I must ask to be excused, to 
dress for an inopportune visitor. 

Gerry — ( Cutting off her retreat). I prefer you 
— this way. Pretense could easily become reality, 
with you looking — 

Lady-fair — You are drinking. 

Gerry — At the Fountain of Experience — which, 
I admit, is a bit heady for me. 

Lady-fair — What has made you so unnatural, 


58 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


SO 

Gerry — I’m what you have made me with your 
experimenting — a desperate man. There’s a god 
of Luck as well as Justice, and — {He lays his 
soiled hands heavily on her shoulders, turning her 
fiercely to face him). — For two months I have 
been abjectly in your power. After tonight, you will 
be in mine. 

Lady-fair — Gerry! {Her tone is of gentle, infin- 
ite reproach). 

{He releases her and flings himself into a chair, 
burying his face in his hands. She lays her hand 
on his bowed head with sisterly tenderness and 
familiarity. He throws it off and lifts his face — self- 
scornful, defiant, relentless) . 

Gerry — There’s no use! If I’ve got to live in 
hell, I may as well be a devil. You don’t know what 
it means to live with a sword hanging over your 
head — threatening worse than death, the knowledge 
that shame and disgrace may come at any moment — 
your freedom dependent on a lawyer s honor and a 
womans ability to keep a secret! 

Lady-fair — My wish is as sacred to Arthur Kent 
as the secret of your folly is to me. 

Gerry — Two frail bridges between a man and 
destruction ! 

Lady-fair — You’re ungrateful — it’s my loyalty 
and devotion to you that irritates Arthur — 

Gerry — And others. 

Lady-fair — Not your father — only dear jealous 
old Mumsey. 

Gerry — There’s jealousy and jealousy, and 
Mumsey’s is not as uncomfortable for me as — Her- 
mione’s. 


ACT II 


59 


Lady-fair — ( She starts and bites her lips). Im- 
possible — absurd ! 

Gerry — Not from her standpoint. She can’t 
know, of course, why I am being made to pay to you 
in humiliating service the exact price of her ring — 
Lady-fair — Her ringl — you would have paid for 
your betrothal ring with — 

Gerry — Blackmail — rather than money borrowed 
from you? If you knew what she suspects, you 
would regard it as instinctive delicacy on my part. 

Lady-fair — That is what you meant tonight 
about Hermione’s tongue and imagination being 
“twin wonders?” I should have thought that sort 
of thing beyond Hermione’s — ah — depth. 

Gerry — You’d be surprised at her worldly wis- 
dom. Her sympathy for her cousin is hardly less 
keen than her resentment for me — in that we both 
are enslaved by one who has no intention of giving 
up a fortune so long as she can retain — (He stops 
with smile and shrug). 

Lady-fair — Go on, Gerry. She — or wine — has 
filled your mind with thoughts that had better be 
scotched than nursed. You say she doubts? — 
Gerry — What tonight’s — er — adventure might 
lend color to — the sisterly quality — 

Lady-fair — She is right — (He starts, but she 
holds him with an unflinching gaze). I doubt if I 
have ever felt as a sister toward you. There’s a depth 
and intensity, an exacting, lenient, tyrannical, self- 
effacing unreasonableness in my love for you, Gerry 
Newcome, to be found only in a mothers heart! 
(He springs to his feet with a mocking laugh and 
draws her in front of a pier-glass, where he stands, 
a half-head taller than she, looking over her shoulder 


6o 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


at their reflections) . 

Gerry — I anticipate an incredulous world in dis- 
owning so youthful a mother ! 

Lady-fair — It’s not years that count, but experi- 
ence — and I was a married woman almost before you 
were out of knickerbockers. 

Gerry — And a mother before I was out of col- 
lege — but I am beginning to understand how Love, 
like Experience, may be no time-server. ( She is 
made conscious of her negligee by the arm slipping 
from her shoulders to her unconfined waist and the 
hand entangled in her streaming hair). 

Lady-fair — Oh Gerry, go, go! 

Gerry — Nay, Lady Shylock — for not ducets nor 
daughter! From tonight our account stands bal- 
anced with the evidence of my folly against the ap- 
pearance of yours. 

Lady-fair — You could not! 

Gerry — You will see — if you try to marry a law- 
yer who shares — 

Lady-fair — He doesn’t share — he will never 
know — 

Gerry — A husband’s jealousy could force — 

Lady-fair — I promise you, Gerry, never to marry 
Arthur — or anyone. 

Gerry — You are beginning to realize your posi- 
tion ? 

Lady-fair — No — the appalling result of my “ex- 
periment!” {He is deeply affected by her bitter 
self-reproach , but conquers himself defiantly). 

Gerry — I could never trust you. 

Lady-fair — I promise you on my honor. 

Gerry — My honor is safer with your honor in 
my keeping. 


ACT II 


61 


Lady-fair — Both fortune and my fair name the 
price of independence ! 

Gerry — Too high a price to pay for Arthur 
Kent’s or any other man’s love, I warn you. 

Lady-fair — You owe Arthur no such — 

Gerry — I owe to you the last push on this to- 
boggin-slide to the devil. (He snaps his finger). 
That! for your “maternal” devotion! You’re only a 
woman, and nothing masculine is too young to cater 
to your vanity. 

Lady-fair — If I thought you could mean it — 

Gerry — Mean it? I’ll prove it. (He confronts 
her , taking her by the shoulders and holding her at 
arm's length in a vise-like grip till he compels her 
eyes to meet his). You either don’t know or don’t 
care that my dirty hands are ruining the dainty cov- 
ering of your shoulders. 

Lady-fair — (Shrugging the shoulders and tilt- 
ing her head till a cheek rests against one of the soiled 
hands). I love the dirt that is making a man of 
you. 

Gerry — Are you afraid of that man? 

Lady-fair — Of you ? — How could I be ? 

Gerry — Answer me. Are you? 

Lady-fair — Certainly not. 

Gerry — (Slowly and sinisterly). Yet you are 
aware that it is — (He glances at the clock). 
— past 2 o’clock in the morning; that the make-be- 
lieve tie between us has been severed by fear of a 
power in the hands of each to the other’s undoing; 
that instead of being a moral support to me, you 
have become, thro’ the irony of Fate, a helpless — 
(His hands meet behind her shoulders). — soft, 
temptingly unresisting form within my arms — and 


62 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


revenge is sweet! ye gods, I never dreamed how 
sweet ! 

Lady-fair — ( Gently , and meeting his flushed, ex- 
cited gaze with a reproachful smile). I can’t help 
understanding — what you will bitterly repent to- 
morrow, Gerry, if you remember it — but I couldn’t, 
I simply couldn’t feel afraid of you. 

Gerry — Because — “Love casteth out fear!” ( She 
stares at him — breathless, self-doubting — and he 
laughs exultantly as his arms resist her struggle for 
concealment and freedom). I am right? 

Lady- fair — You — are — inhuman ! 

Gerry — No — very human — and you love me — 
your eyes tell me so. Say it with your lips — your 
lips! { The tantalizing smile leaves his lips as he 
bends his face quickly to hers, and together they 
are caught beneath a floodgate of emotion as strange 
and overwhelming to him as to her). 

(A hoarse, whining little cry comes from down 
the inner hall). 

Little Benjamin — Mam-ma ! 

Lady-fair — Let me — go! Benjamin — wants me. 

Gerry — I want you, too — I love you! 

Lady-fair — You are mocking — 

Gerry — Mockery has ended in worship. 

Lady-fair — No! 

Gerry — Yes! 

Lady-fair — You don’t know the meaning — 

Gerry — I’m learning. This is it — {He kisses 

eyes, face , neck) — this — this — this! 

Lady-fair — It’s desecration ! 

Gerry — Conflagration! {He laughs and crushes 
her to him). 

Little Benjamin — Mam-ma! 


ACT II 


63 


Lady-fair — Oh Gerry, let me go! 

Gerry — Marie will — 

Lady-fair — Marie isn’t here. 

Gerry — You are alone — alone? {Her ineffectual 
struggling ceases , and she lies in his arms helpless, 
her eyes beseeching) . 

Lady-fair — Gerry! Gerry! {The protest is 

stifled by his lips). Are — you — mad? 

Gerry — Yes — for you! {Suddenly a realizing 
horror distorts his face — as of a man who, making a 
feint of suicide from dizzy heights, loses his balance 
and knows his doom. A shudder goes thro * him from 
head to foot, and his arms relax, falling nervelessly at 
his sides as Benjamin s hoarse cry strengthens Lady- 
fair to wrench herself away. He covers his face with 
his hands, and stands quivering. When he at last 
drags them away, he is haggard and aged). I love 
her — and I’ve made her afraid! 

Lady-fair — {Reappearing at the archway a dis- 
tracted instant). Call Dr. Austin — tell him to come 
quick — quick! {She rushes back to the wailing 
child) . 

Gerry — {Going to the telephone and not having 
to look up the number). 9541 River — . . .Dr. 

Austin’s residence?. . . . The doctor there? 

Can’t I reach him some way? . . . Yes, at once, 

Benjamin is very ill . . . What is it? . . . 

Yes, little Benjamin Cross — I forgot — I’m telephon- 
ing for La — for Mrs. Cross ... I don’t know. 

. . . Yes, very suddenly . . . Coughing 
frightfully and breathing queer — {He flinches at the 
sound coming from the inner room). Yes, croup — 
that’s it. . . . I — I don’t know what doctor to 

get. . . . Why, yes, we’d be very grateful. . 


64 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


. . Yes, at once, please . . . Thank you — 

it seems very urgent. . . . Thank you. (He 

goes to the archway and calls gently). Lady-fair, 
Dr. Austin can’t be reached, but Mrs. Austin will 
send someone right away — Dr. Somebody or other 
who lives near here — a throat specialist, she says, 
whom you can trust implicitly. I’ll go up for 
mother — 

Lady-fair — ( Again appearing for an instant). 
No, no — don’t leave me — Open the door for the 
Doctor and — and wait on him. (She darts back, 
leaving him perplexed, ill at ease, and scrubbing 
hands and face vigorously with handkerchief. The 
distracting, choked cry continues, and there is a rap 
on the door, followed by a sharp ring. He opens the 
door). 

The Physician — Mrs. Austin sent me — ah, I 
understand! (He follows the sound of coughing 
and stentorious breathing, but returns instantly). A 
case for intubation, — the only chance for the little 
fellow, I fear. I have to go for an instrument — not 
be gone five minutes — I live nearby — 

Gerry — Let me go. 

The Physician — Save time by going myself — 
know just what I need and where to find it. Stay 
with your wife — 

Gerry — You stay, Doctor! 

The Physician — No time for nerves, my dear 
man — case of quick diphtheria, not croup, and the 
struggle may come at any moment. Fight the at- 
tack with plenty of air if it comes while I’m gone — 
and spare your wife the sight if possible. Put the 
door on the latch for me. (He is gone before Gerry 
can speak). 


ACT II 


65 


{Gerry fixes the door and starts for the bed- 
room , when a piercing shriek halts him. Lady- 
fair rushes out with Benjamin in her arms. The 
child is struggling, but there is no sound). 

Lady-fair — Gerry, Gerry, he’s choking to death ! 
(As she flings the child into Gerry's arms, she falls 
unconscious at his feet). 

Gerry — Oh, for God’s sake, little chap, don’t die 
in my arms — they’re not fit! ( The door is thrown 
violently open by the Physician who is followed by 
Kent and Mr. and Mrs. Newcome — the two latter 
in hasty negligee. Kent and Mr. Newcome rush 
to Lady-fair, while the Doctor springs toward the 
child, and Mrs. Newcome goes to Gerry's rescue. 
Little Benjamin, now quite still, is transferred quick- 
ly to Mrs. Newcome's arms, and Gerry rushes from 
the room. The curtain goes down on frantic efforts 
to revive mother and child, with Kent's eyes taking 
in Gerry's working clothes and his hurried exit with- 
out hat or coat). 

CURTAIN 


ACT III 


Scene — The Newcome apartment , about 8 o’clock 
in the evening. A joyous expectancy pervades the at- 
mosphere. Mr. Newcome paces the Foyer , rubbing 
his hands together and chuckling now and then. Mrs. 
Newcome , resplendent in velvet and jewels, sits back 
in her large chair, wielding an ostrich fan and radi- 
ating complacency. Duncan comes in and looks 
about, puts a box of cigars a trifle more in evidence, 
exchanges positions of an ashtray and a package of 
cigarettes, and goes out by way of the desk- phone, 
stopping beside it and vigorously polishing the re- 
ceiver with his handkerchief, also moving the chair to 
a readier position for occupancy. The bell rings and 
he takes down the receiver. 

Duncan — N’m, not yet, but we’re expecting him 
every minute. . . . Yes’m, — Miss Chenowith 

— I’ll tell him when he arrives. 

Mrs. Newcome — ( With a blissful sigh). Ain’t 
that natur’l? ( The bell rings again). 

Mr. Newcome — Too darned natural — the girls 
might wait till he gets home anyway. 

Duncan — (At the telephone). No’m, not yet, 
but we’re expecting him every minute. 

Yes’m — Miss Royster — I’ll tell him when he comes. 

Mrs. Newcome — I don’t blame ’em. My! but 
I’ve been that lonesome for some telephonin’ — (The 
bell rings again. Mr. Newcome snorts, Mrs. New- 
come chuckles, and Duncan betrays his nearness at 
hand by reappearing immediately) . 

66 


ACT III 


67 


Duncan — No’m, not ye — hello, hello! . . 

. Yes, sir . . . Mr. Newcome? Hold the 

wire, please. 

Mr. Newcome — For me? How in creation did 
a man get the line tonight? ( He goes over and takes 
receiver). Hello, hello, there, be quick. . . . 
Samuels? . . . Well, what’s wanted? . . . 
No, not yet, but we’re expecting him every minute. 

Don’t care how late, I’ll be up and waiting 
for him, you can bet your bottom dollar — . . . 

No, can’t possibly see you tonight — wouldn’t be out 
of this room when my boy comes — ... I tell 

you I won’t do it — not if five hundred thousand is 
involved. . . . Yes, I’ll come down early in the 

morning. ... As early as you please — Gerry’s 
not apt to be up ’fore noon, unless he’s changed that 
habit ’long with all the rest. . . . Thank you, 
yes, of course we’re proud — . . . Don’t know 
much ourselves ’cept what’s in the papers. . . . 

Yes, reporters and special-artists-on-the-spot in Dark- 
est Africa these days — and that’s no joke. I heard of 
an automobileful of people entertainin’ a camel-car- 
avan in a desert oasis with a victrola. Ha, ha! Good- 
night! (He hangs up the receiver). That’s the 
Lord’s truth, but Samuels wouldn’t stopped talking 
yet if he hadn’t thought I’s joshing him. 

Mrs. Newcome — (Beatifically) . Reminds me of 
a year ago tonight — ’t ’so differn’t, as Gerry would 
say. 

Mr. Newcome — Dear, dear! — a whole year? 

Mrs. Newcome — Almost to the hour — an’ you 
was gyratin’ about jest like you are now, only you 
was ejaculatin’ somethin’ else as begins with a D. 
(He comes toward her chuckling) . ’Pon my soul, 


68 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Daddy, you remind me of a bran-new father with his 
first baby. 

Mr. Newcome — You’re not far off, Mumsey. 
If I’m not a bran-new father, I’ve got a bran-new 
son, and I’m just thanking the Good Lord and Lady- 
fair with all my might. To think if it hadn’t been 
for her, we’d never known the sort o’ heart and brain 
God Almighty put into that boy! (He chokes and 
stops , dropping down into a large chair and becom- 
ing lost in thought , while his wife rambles on in 
unwearied reminiscence) . 

Mrs. Newcome — The ways of the Lord are past 
findin’ out. Seems mighty uneven, somehow, that 
Lady-fair had to lose her boy to help us find ourn. 
. . . .But maybe that ain’t the way to look at it. 

I shouldn’t wonder if the Lord sent Gerry to her, to 
save her from that awful experience that drove him, 
a strong young man, clean to South Americay. I’ll 
never forget that night if I live to be a Mrs. Methu- 
selah — findin’ him up here sittin’ with his head in his 
han’s, an’ his cry when I told him little Benjamin 
couldn’t be brought to — then his jumpin’ up like a 
crazy man an’ sayin’ he’s goin’ to join a construction- 
gang leavin’ for South Americay on the 4 o’clock 
train, an’ it then 3 ! Well, of all the quick packin’ 
— not as there was much of it! — a pair of overalls 
an’ a flannel shirt, some underwear an’ shavin’ things 
and pajamas in a han’bag, an’ him off to that terrible 
country where they say they don’t wear much in the 
way of clothes! Maybe he hasn’t needed any — but, 
my! he must be sunburned! Do you suppose he can 
buy a suit down there to wear home? 

Mr. Newcome — I don’t know and I don’t care! 
I’d as soon hug him in his overalls as the finery he’s 


ACT III 69 

buyin’ with his own money now that he’s a bridge- 
builder and a hero. 

Mrs. Newcome — Goodness me! I didn’t know 
before they made ’em so quick. 

Mr. Newcome — Made what? — clothes? 

Mrs. Newcome — N o; heroes an’ bridge-build- 
ers. 

Mr. Newcome — Genius, madam, and hard work, 
tacked on to a college education is what makes a 
bridge-builder out of a mechanical engineer; and 
them sharp eyes, inherited from me ( He rises and 
struts the floor) is what made our son a hero an’ 
the rescuer from an awful death of hundreds of peo- 
ple that’d been dashed to pieces — 

Mrs. Newcome — I thought a train hadn’t been 
over it — 

Mr. Newcome — (Waving facts aside). It was 
because he saw the defect and pointed it out in 
time — 

Mrs. Newcome — Then it didn’t actually ker- 
flumucks? I’s afraid from your talk it did, an’ Ger- 
ry might be hurt some eternal way we hadn’t heard 
about. But what’s all the ado — 

Mr. Newcome — Gerry’s seeing what was wrong 
and preventing an accident at the risk of his life, 
then pointing out the remedy — which is going to be 
for him what my screw’s been to me — the screw 
I discovered while layin’ on my back in overalls un- 
der the machinery. Bet Gerry didn’t drop from no 
balloon in evenin’ clothes to flag that train from 
the middle of the bridge — No, Mumsey, you’re all 
wrong; it’s the inside, not the outside of a fellow 
that counts. 

Mrs. Newcome — You may be right — But, my! 


7o 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


my! nobody’ll ever know what the outside o’ Gerry 
was to me. ( She gets up with a sigh). Them 
South American trains is surely slow! ( The door- 
bell rings , and she , her husband and Duncan all rush 
for the door. Kent and Hermione enter as the door 
is flung wide , laughing at the blank and inhospita- 
ble disappointment) . 

Hermione — Hasn’t he come yet? 

Kent — I thought he was to arrive at six? 

Mr. Newcome — Train’s three hours late. 

Mrs. Newcome — When did you get back, Her- 
miony? Thought you was in Europe an’ engaged 
to a crowned head. (She submits her cheek for a 
kiss as reluctantly as it is bestowed) . 

Hermione — I’m just back, and I’ve heard all 
about Gerry. It’s too splendid for anything. (She 
turns to Mr. Newcome in a demonstrative greeting 
and draws him aside). 

Kent — We all share your pride and happiness, 
Mrs. Newcome — a sort of reflected glory, don’t you 
know, being friends of the hero. Every one of Ger- 
ry’s best girls must have sent his picture to the news- 
papers — 

Mrs. Newcome — A lot of ’em he never set for in 
creation — unless they was some of Hermiony’s ko- 
daking. 

Kent — My fair cousin can prove an alibi — she 
destroyed her entire collection when he took French- 
leave of all of us. (Hermione glares at him and 
shakes her head). 

Mrs. Newcome — (Looking over toward her). 
You don’t say. My! but you must ’ave had a mad 
on. Seems you’ve got good an’ over it, tho’. 

Hermione — (Coyly). Lovers’ quarrels — 


ACT III 


7i 

Kent — (To the N ew comes) . We’ll go down to 
Lady’s-fair till after Gerry has had you — 

Hermione — Indeed I won’t. I’m dying to see 
him, even if we aren’t — (She stops in confusion) . 
Arthur ’d miss the last call for Heaven for an extra 
five minutes with Lady Shylock ! 

Mrs. Newcome — She’ll be up in a minute — but 
you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Hermiony, 
calling her a name like that. 

Hermione — Hasn’t she been a regular female 
Shylock — making Gerry pay that two thousand dol- 
lars in dribbles, instead of waiting till he was mak- 
ing money easily. 

Kent — He wouldn’t be making money “easily” 
if it hadn’t been for — 

Hermione — Nonsense! He had the brains and 
the education, and all he needed was — 

Mr. Newcome — The opportunity, my dear — and 
that’s a debt he’ll owe Lady-fair all his life. 

Hermione — I don’t think it’s fair to give her so 
much credit. He didn’t even get a good start till he 
broke away from her influence and took matters in 
his own hands — going to the end of creation — 

Mr. Newcome — Oh, South America isn’t such 
a long — 

Hermione — It’s longer than a woman’s apron- 
string. 

Mrs. Newcome — Heap you know about Gerry if 
you think he’d stand apron-strings any more’n bein’ 
hen-pecked. 

Hermione — I’m not asserting my rights, but 
Gerry’s. It isn’t considerate, to say the least — hav- 
ing Lady-fair here to mar his home-coming by re- 
minding him of that awful night. 


72 


GERRY'S AWAKENING 


Kent — I f Lady-fair can stand it, he can. 

Hermione — She was unconscious, I thought. 

Kent — No one knows what she endured before — 
is still enduring, for that matter. 

Hermione — That’s what I mean — she’s a regular 
lay figure of mourning, and her black gown will be 
such a damper — 

Mrs. Newcome — Don’t borrow trouble about 
Lady-fair’s gown. She never forgets nobody’s feel- 
in’s, an’ if she thinks a sky-blue satin will add to 
Gerry’s pleasure, you can count on her wearin’ it. 
{Kent sets his jaw with a suppressed word which a 
gesture accentuates , while Hermione tosses her head 
and goes to remove her wraps. A light tap on the 
outer hall door is answered by a quick stride of 
Kent's which enables him to open the door for Lady- 
fair. He draws his breath sibilantly at sight of her). 

Kent — You are a vision ! {She is gowned in 
unrelieved white , without jewels or hair ornaments, 
and in her effort at simplicity, with the responsibility 
of motherhood lifted from her shoulders and with a 
timidity born of experiences that have transformed a 
self-reliant woman into a self-conscious girl, she 
startles all of them with an unfamiliar youthfulness. 

Mr. Newcome — Why, bless my life if here ain’t 
a sweet-sixteen! {He takes both her hands in his as 
she encounters a look of angry and jealous surprise 
from Hermione, standing within the archway, and 
flushes till the tears come into her eyes). 

Lady-fair — I’ve only come up to beg you, Mrs. 
Newcome, to excuse me this evening — I — I have a 
headache, and — and tell Gerry I’ll see him tomor- 
row. 

Mrs. Newcome — {Waddling after her quickly 


ACT III 


73 


and drawing her back). No, no, you must stay — 
Gerry said so in his letter, and I never disappointed 
him in my life. 

Lady-fair — ( With dilated eyes and catching her 
breath sharply). Gerry said I must ? 

Mrs. Newcome — He wants us all together, so 
he can begin right where he left off. 

Hermione — (To Kent). Tactful old thing — 
to recall that night! Be just like her to remind 
Gerry. (Kent doesnt heed her. He is trying , with 
the others, to divert attention from the reminder). 

Mr. Newcome — He only — 

Kent — (To Lady-fair) . Wouldn’t a drive help 
your head ? 

Mrs. Newcome — Talkin’ about heads — did you 
see the cartoon with Gerry a-holdin’ up a train on 
a little streak of somethin’ cornin’ out his forehead 
and labelled, “Not the Sort of Hold-up Expected of 
a Society Chap?” 

Hermione — (To Kent, contemptuously). What 
does she mean? (Kent explains). 

Lady-fair — A brain like Gerry’s is not often 
found in a “society chap.” 

Mrs. Newcome — Is that what it meant? Well, 
anyway, I didn’t like it as much as his photographs — 
all but that one with a big head and little legs. 

Hermione — (Sneeringly) . Did you think that 
meant “swelled head?” 

Mrs. Newcome — Plenty has happened, I can tell 
you, to swell his head, but nothin’, as I know of, to 
shrivel his legs. 

Mr. Newcome — Gerry’s outside is all right. 
The main thing — (He winks at Hermione) is for 
him not to leave his heart behind him, eh? 


74 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Kent — O r bring home a dusky native. 

Lady-fair — We — we ought to be prepared for 
some — some great change in him, considering the 
hardships he has passed thro’ and this — this sudden 
prominence — 

Mrs. Newcome — The newspapers had me scared 
at first — didn’t know whether I’d recognize my own 
boy — but this last letter of his’n is natural as life. 
( She takes it up from the table and reads from it). 
“Mumsey,” it says, “you can celebrate with a brass 
band and your entire speaking acquaintance if you 
wish, but Lady-fair must — 

Mr. Newcome — I guess he meant that to read 
“Lady-fair must” — that it twouldn’t be a home-com- 
ing without her. 

Mrs. Newcome — Maybe he did, but you can see 
for yourself — the “must” looks like a fly had stepped 
in ink and promenaded under it. ( There is a general 
movement of curiosity). 

Kent — ( Watching Lady-fair). Gerry’s wish, 
Mrs. Newcome, can’t be law to everyone — 

Lady-fair — It is to me — I mean I oughtn’t re- 
fuse him anything after taking his destiny into my 
hands so blindly as I did — I might have ruined 
him — Oh, what if I have ruined him! 

Hermione — Don’t shoulder Gerry’s faults as well 
as his fame! 

Lady-fair — ( Eagerly , and unmindful of the 
thrust the others condemn with frowns). Do you 
notice any change in him ? 

Hermione — How should I — 

Lady- fair — In his letters, I mean? 

Hermione — We haven’t corresponded. Life in 
overalls would have made about as interesting a topic 


ACT III 


75 


for me as my court gown for him. Thanks to you, 
Gerry and I haven’t had a great deal in common the 
past year. 

Mr. Newcome — I guess Gerry’s been too busy 
for letter-writing. His mother’s the only one as 
I’ve heard of who’s been honored. But what is it 
you fear, my dear? 

Lady-fair — The rough life, his associates, de- 
moralizing surroundings and influences — nothing 
could compensate for changing — 

Mrs. Newcome — {Sniffling) . My sweet dainty 
boy into a coarse working-man ! 

Mr. Newcome — Tut, tut! both of you’ve got an 
attack of “nerves.” {He soothes and pets her , while 
Hermione looks on contemptuously , and Kent turns 
to Lady -fair) . 

Kent — Is that what has been burdening your 
conscience ? 

Lady-fair — Not — not as Mumsey thinks ; but in 
character, feeling — in his nature. It terrifies me 
when I realize that we may not be looking for the 
Gerry that will come back to us — 

Mr. Newcome — You’re upset by that bossy 
“must.” Gerry just wanted — 

Herimone — To get back that sealed package as 
soon as possible, now that he can pay off his debt. 
It would make a pleasant anniversary of a disagree- 
able episode — like burning a mortgage, and that sort 
of thing. I hope you have it with you, Arthur? 

Kent — {Shortly). It’s never been in my pos- 

session. 

Hermione — Did Gerry know it? 

Kent — Not from me. 

Mr. Newcome — We didn’t know it ourselves till 


76 GERRY’S AWAKENING 

Lady-fair give it to us to destroy. 

Kent — ( In an eager undertone to Lady-fair). 
Destroy? — you did wisely. 

Hermione — Are you sure it was the package? 

Mrs. Newcome — Seein’s believin’, an’ bein’ as 
we read — 

Hermione — You read the letters? 

Mr. Newcome, Mrs. Newcome, Lady-fair — 
Letters ? — what letters ? 

Hermione — That’s exactly the way Gerry said 
it when I accused him. 

Kent — Accused him of what? 

Lady-fair — This is not the witness-stand, Arth- 
ur, — but Gerry’s Newcome’s home. 

Kent — Pardon my — interest. 

Hermione — I think I ought to know how many 
people were allowed to read those — “documents in 
evidence.” 

Mrs. Newcome — Jest Gerry an’ Daddy an’ me 
an’ Lady-fair — us four an’ no more, like the selfish 
man’s prayer. ( She turns and swings away with 
head in air, and the others look after her with vary- 
ing expressions. The door opens without warning 
and Gerry stands before her. She utters a glad cry, 
and he catches her in a crushing embrace. She rocks 
in his arms and sobs his name over and over again). 

Gerry — ( Gently disengaging himself and extend- 
ing a hand each to his father and Kent). How are 
you, Dad? — Glad to see you, Kent — Why, Dizzy! 
you back from foreign conquests? and more glorious 
than ever! Am delighted to see you! {He takes 
both hands in his and holds her at arm's length, 
admiring her from tip to toe). You are a feast for 
eyes starved for civilized femininity. I feel positive- 


ACT III 


77 


ly cannibalistic — or would it be poaching on foreign 
preserves? (Her eyes droop beneath his , and she 
yields visibly toward him , but is checked by the sud- 
den rigidness of his arms. She looks up, to see him 
gazing over her head toward the hall-door where 
Lady-fair stands, her hand on the knob, fleeing in a 
white panic. He drops Hermione's hands and 
springs forward, his hand closing over Lady-fair s 
and holding her prisoner). You did come? 

Lady-fair — You said I must. 

Gerry — I couldn’t wait to know whether I’d 
made — 

Lady-fair — I dread to know! 

Gerry — What, Lady-fair? 

Lady-fair — Whether I’ve made a man of you or 
made myself your plaything. 

Gerry — L ady- uni air ! 

Mrs. Newcome — Set down, Hermiony. Ketch 
any sprig of royalty while you’s gone ? 

Mr. Newcome — Care to smoke, Kent? ( The 
intention is so obvious that Kent and Hermione have 
to turn away from Gerry and Lady-fair) . 

Lady-fair — Haven’t they written you that I — 
that Arthur — that — (She stops, in confusion). 

Gerry — (Almost crushing her hand against 
the knob). Don’t tell me that you and Kent are 
married. 

Lady-fair — Hardly. 

Gerry — Are you engaged? 

Lady-fair — No ! 

Gerry — Do you — want to marry him? 

Lady-fair — How could I give myself to one man 
while in the power of another? 

Gerry — Then it’s only fear — 


78 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Lady-fair — Are you still a boy , Gerry Newcome? 

Gerry — No, I’m a man — of your making, and if 
I prove a Frankenstein — ( The surprised attention of 
the others checks him, and he laughs shortly, running 
nervous fingers thro ’ his hair and pushing it back 
from his forehead, revealing streaks of gray). 

Mrs. Newcome — Land sakes, Gerry, did the sun 
bleach your hair? {He crosses the room quickly to 
her, while his father goes to Lady-fair and says some- 
thing that she shakes her head at, with a forced smile, 
and turns back into the room to join the others). 

Gerry — No, Mumsey, dear, — only some basting 
threads left in a made-over character. 

Hermione — I think you have made a splendid 
job of it, Gerry. {He smiles his thanks with a slight 
inclination of the head). 

Mr. Newcome — Result suits me. 

Kent — Premature gray hairs is the price Nature 
sometimes exacts for premature honors. 

Gerry — Et tu. Brute ? 

Mrs. Newcome — Sh! don’t be rough. 

Lady-fair — {Trying to cover Hermione’ s giggle, 
Kent’s sneer and Gerry’s frown). How — how did 
you happen to discover the — the — whatever was 
wrong ? 

Gerry — Same way Dad did the screw. 

Mr. Newcome — I said so ! I said so ! 

Mrs. Newcome — Is it hard on your finger nails 
as ever? 

Gerry — No, I use my eyes and a little gray mat- 
ter — 

Mrs. Newcome — You must consult a occulist 
first thing. {All laugh naturally for the first time 
since his arrival). 


ACT III 


79 


Gerry — ( Sitting on the arm of her chair). If 
I’d had you to make me laugh, Mumsey darling, I’d 
not turned gray, — Why, there’s old Duncan — and 
Jane — (As the sound of laughter brings two eager , 
smiling servants to the door). How are you both? 
Did you miss me? Where’s Hilda and Stevens? 
Isn’t there any cooking and chauffering going on 
here since I left? Excuse me, everybody. If the 
mountain won’t come to Mahomet, you know — (He 
disappears down the inner hall , while Duncan looks 
around for hat and luggage , finds them outside the 
door , fetches them and follows chuckling) . 

Mr. Newcome — Suppose we go into the draw- 
ingroom — this place seems a bit cramped. 

Mrs. Newcome — You’re getting too big for the 
flat all of a sudden, Daddy. 

Mr. Newcome — (Pinching Hermione's cheek). 
Come, miss, and play your father-in-law-what-is-to- 
be some music that’ll keep him from shoutin’ and 
makin’ a fool of hisself. Gerry’ll want to do a bit 
of primping, I guess. 

Lady-fair — (To Kent). Aren’t you coming? 

Kent — Later. (He holds the portieres aside for 
her to pass through , then returns to the table and 
awaits Gerry's return). 

Gerry — (Arrested by Kent's disturbed face and 
nodding toward the drawingroom whence comes the 
sound of Hermione's playing). “Music hath charms 
to soothe — 

Kent — It isn’t an opportune time or place to 
speak, but your meeting tonight — 

Gerry — What the devil are you talking about ? 

Kent — Your resentment betrays understanding. 
I’m talking about the change in Lady-fair — in both 


8o 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


of you — a change that seems to have reversed your 
positions and made a shrinking girl of her, a tyranni- 
cal man of you. 

Gerry — You could hardly expect me to remain a 
boy through the experiences of the past year. 

Kent — But why “Frankenstein,” when she has 
made you the hero of the hour? 

Gerry — Shall we join the others? 

Kent — Not yet. Lady-fair is my client, if noth- 
ing more, and threats that pass for temper in a spoil- 
ed boy hold the menace of intimidation when uttered 
by a man. 

Gerry — A s a woman’s overzealous coercion 
through youthful follies may become prosecution 
when used with jealous suspicion by a criminal law- 
yer. 

Kent — Then we fully understand each other? 
The first suspicion to be cleared away, if you please, 
is — By what twist of circumstances are you saying 
“must” to her ? 

Gerry — What’s the answer? ( The guarded eag- 
erness of his eyes belies the flippant tone). 

Kent — Her enforced presence here tonight — upon 
your demand. 

Gerry — D emand ? 

Kent — She interpreted it that way. 

Gerry — I never contradict a lady. 

Kent — ( Gripping the edge of the table). I’ve 
been afraid from the first that her rash and impulsive 
interest in you would give you some hold upon her — 
the nature of which, I warn you, I shall make it my 
business to find out. 

Gerry — Why not her continued “rash and impul- 
sive interest?” 


ACT III 


81 


Kent — You are quibbling. 

Gerry — I’m talking to a lawyer. 

Kent — And the man whose happiness you have 
interfered with by some sort of tyranny that has 
changed — 

Gerry — May not the Arch-Tyrant, Death, be 
responsible for the change you are attributing to me ? 

Kent — No, her child’s death, even though we’ve 
been barred from learning how much she witnessed 

Gerry — Barred? — how do you mean? 

Kent — By her physician’s orders. For five weeks, 
you may or may not know, we were cut off from her 
as effectually as you were in South America; and 
before she came among us again, Dr. Austin warned 
us that the tenderest effort to obtain details of that 
night would be at the risk of her reason. ( Gerry 
bows his head). We speak freely of little Benja- 
min, but of his death or in fact anything connected 
with that night — 

Gerry — Don’t, man! 

Kent — I see that it will not be necessary to ask 
you to remember — 

Gerry — As if it were possible to forget! 

Kent — We realize something of what you must 
have gone through that night, but it is compensation, 
I’m sure, to know that you spared her — 

Gerry — ( Startling Kent with the haggard face 
he turns to him). You are talking about Benjamin’s 
death ? 

Kent — Why — er — yes, the struggle, the end and 

Gerry — Talk about something else — if courtesy 
compels me to listen. 


82 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Kent — Willingly; for that is a dead trouble to 
Lady-fair, and the one I’m trying to ferret out is the 
living one. 

Gerry — (Sharply). Living one? 

Kent — You — some act of yours is her living 
trouble — something you’ve done — 

Gerry — If we talk long enough I may know as 
much as you. Continue. 

Kent — I shall — till I find a working basis for the 
end I’ve set myself to accomplish. I’ve beaten my 
head against the wall that has arisen between me and 
the woman I love, until I shall now batter it dow T n, 
crush whom it may. 

Gerry — Take care that none of the stones fall in 
Lady-fair’s direction. 

Kent — You to talk of consideration for her — you 
whose success fills her with terror instead of pride — 

Gerry — Terror? 

Kent — As if she feared the petty tyrannies of an 
undisciplined youth may have grown with the self- 
importance of the man inflated by sudden and exag- 
gerated fame — 

Gerry — Your imagination is working overtime, 
my dear chap. Give it a rest. May I offer you first- 
aid? (He extends his cigarette-case) . 

Kent — A very good excuse to remain out here. 
(He takes one and lights it grouchily ). Gerry, I 
don’t like the position I’m placed in. I’m a friend 
of your family, aside from my relationship to Herm- 
ione — 

Gerry — (With a cynical smile). There is no 
occasion, I assure you, to let cousinship hinder you 
from plain speaking. 

Kent — (Intent on his own purpose). — and only 


ACT III 83 

this extraordinary change in the woman who would 
marry me, I believe — 

Gerry — You believe ! — has she ever consented? 

Kent — No, but — 

Gerry — Has she ever encouraged you to think 
that — 

Kent — Are you dodging the question, or aren’t 
you capable of appreciating the woman who has done 
so much for you? — Lady-fair is no vascillating 
schoolgirl. 

Gerry — Heaven be praised ! ( Apostrophizing his 

cigarette ) . 

Kent — What did you say? 

Gerry — Did I speak? 

Kent — I thought you did — but as I was about 
to say, her friendship for me is so warm and our 
tastes so congenial, that her gentle rejection of my 
love — 

Gerry — It requires fire from both sides to melt 
a gold barrier. 

Kent — Old Cross’ money isn’t the— 

Gerry — A million dollars is a good deal to give 
up for — congeniality. 

Kent — She wouldn’t have to give up all — er — 
that is, it isn’t a question of money — you are the 
barrier between Lady-fair and me. 

Gerry — Does she say so? 

Kent — She acts so. 

Gerry — Suppose, then, we drop the subject till 
I’ve had a chance to observe — 

Kent — The chance to push your advantage is the 
one thing I’ve decided to prevent since I witnessed 
your meeting tonight. You have obtained some hold 
upon her which I propose to counteract, even if it 


84 GERRY’S AWAKENING 

involves legal prosecution. 

Gerry — I’ve known that from the start, and — 
well, you know self-preservation is the first law of 
nature. 

Kent — Is that the cause of your sudden dislike 
for me ? 

Gerry — It wasn’t sudden — I never liked you. 

Mr. Newcome — ( From the doorway). Ah — ah 
— Ahem ! 

Gerry — Keep them in there, Dad, — Arthur and I 
are having a little heart-to-heart talk. ( T urning to 
Kent , as the elder Newcome returns to the drawing- 
room). You are insincere; technical law is your 
code of honor, and you’d make life a hell for a 
woman with a conscience like Lady-fair’s — even if 
she loved you, which she doesn’t. 

Kent — How do you know? 

Gerry — ( With a reminiscent smile). Because 
she isn’t “a vacillating schoolgirl.” (He then looks 
at Kent with a sharp frown). — but, of what do you 
accuse me? 

Kent — (No longer conciliatory) . Of burdening 
her conscience with some criminal act for which she 
morbidly holds herself responsible — for some rash 
thing that showed her the folly and danger of a 
woman’s trying to exert unwelcome and undue influ- 
ence upon a spoiled boy headed for the devil — for a 
shock the night of her child’s death — (He lifts his 
head quickly , with a transfixing legal stare). How 
came you to be in Lady-fair’s rooms at that time of 
night? 

Gerry — (Furiously) . Your question is an insult 
to Lady — 

Kent — I’d choke the words back into your throat 


ACT III 85 

if we were — elsewhere! You know I was thinking 
of that infernal package. 

Gerry — ( Every vestige of excitement and anger 
disappearing) . Ah — I see! You suspect I was bent 
on burglary. 

Kent — Why namxe it? Heaven knows I hoped 
earnestly — selfishly, if you choose, — that you’d re- 
gain possession of that package by hook or crook, I 
didn’t give a damn how. The whole thing was un- 
natural, and I felt from the first that she’d have 
cause to regret her imprudent devotion to you and 
your family. 

Gerry — Apparently you’ve lost sight of the fact 
that I knew the package had been committed to you. 

Kent — ( Biting his lips and frowning). I — er — 
thought you might have considered that a ruse and 
hoped — 

Gerry — “Hope” is about the only thing Pandora 
released from my pot-pourri of questionable bless- 
ings! Besides, Lady-fair is not one to weaken in a 
regenerative purpose because of danger to herself — 
even though you have spared no pains to point it out 
to her. 

Kent — The legal mind inevitably considers con- 
sequences. 

Gerry — Allow me to compliment you upon your 
professional foresight in this instance. 

Kent — There have been — consequences? 

Gerry — Revolutionary consequences ! — not the 
least of them, my dear Kent, which you will prob- 
ably ferret out without understanding, being the 
transformation, the literal making-over, I’ve under- 
gone in the crucible of a woman’s courageous indis- 
cretion! Shall we join the others now? 


86 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Kent — ( Regards him through narrowing eyes, 
and the frown of baffled uneasiness deepens as they 
move toward the drawingroom) . I’m sorry to dis- 
cover what, up to the present, has been conspicuous 
by its absence — a “swelled” head. 

Gerry — ( Stopping short). A figure of speech 
that recalls your wall-battering threat of a moment 
ago. Is it to be merely a “kicking against the pricks” 
or “butting in” where it’s none of your business? 

Kent — ( Glancing about him and lowering his 
voice). Criminal law is my business. 

Gerry — {Shrugging) . If you are no more suc- 
cessful in third-degree tactics than in will-breaking , 
there’s small chance of your discovering the hold — 

Kent — The hold ? — 

Gerry — Lady-fair has upon me. 

Kent — {Thwarted and off his guard). If she 
marries me — 

Gerry — Not even a sister’s loyalty should be sub- 
jected to a husband’s inquisition. 

Kent — Is that an acknowledgment that you are 
preventing — 

Gerry — It’s a declaration that I will. {The two 
men stand measuring each other, with savagely 
inquiring, savagely answering eyes. Lady -fair ad- 
vances quickly from the drawingroom entrance, at 
which she has but just appeared, and steps between 
them). 

Lady-fair — You are talking about me? 

Kent — Can he ? 

Lady-fair — Can he — what? 

Kent — I beg your pardon — I thought you over- 
heard — it’s nothing. 

Gerry — Nothing but the destiny of three people! 


ACT III 


87 


— Can I prevent your marrying him ? 

Lady-fair — It isn’t kind of you, Arthur, to make 
me an object of useless dispute, nor chivalrous of 
Gerry to doubt my word. 

Kent — You are bound by a promise? 

Lady-fair — A voluntary promise, when I made 
the mistake — 

Kent — {Sarcastically) . Of making a man of a 
spoiled cub? 

Gerry — It depends upon the kind of man — 

Kent — I was speaking from the worldly stand- 
point of success . 

Lady-fair — Please! ( With a deprecating ges- 
ture). I shall never marry, even if Gerry were 
willing — 

Gerry — You made a man of me — not an arch- 
angel! — and to be willing after — ( Lady-fair gasps , 
and Gerry stops with set teeth). 

Kent — After burglary was added to the crime she 
was already shielding — 

Lady-fair — Burglary ? 

Gerry — Given theory and motive, a criminal 
lawyer can manufacture evidence out of any 
chance — 

Kent — “Chance” doesn’t enter with a key at 2 
o’clock in the morning and spend an hour — ( Gerry 
and Lady -fair exchange breathless glances) — in 
searching for incriminating letters. 

Gerry — ( With a shiver of relief). You have 
shocked Lady-fair with revelations of depths of vil- 
lainy in yourself as well as in me. She doesn’t rec- 
ognize you in the guise of spy any more readily than 
me in that of house-breaker. 

Lady-fair — I don’t understand — 


88 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Gerry — ( Turning sharply). It isn’t necessary 
that you should. ( Then back to Kent). What can 
you make of your discovery? You said only a 
moment ago you hoped I’d get possession of the 
package. 

Lady-fair — But, Arthur, he didn’t know — it was 
chance, accident — 

Gerry — and when accident, through a servant’s 
leaving a door unlocked, gave me the chance to 
search for — 

Lady-fair — He couldn't, Arthur — I was awake 
— in the room — 

Kent — Which proves resourcefulness rather than 
innocence. 

Lady-fair — But he didn’t know I had the pack- 
age — that — that I’d never given it to you — ( Gerry 
turns away and lifts a face radiant with amazed 
gratitude) . 

Kent — He knew you’d never entrust anything to 
me after my suspicious questioning. 

Gerry — (To Lady-fair). I was sure of your 
loyalty even though you were punishing me. 

Lady-fair — Gerry, you are wilfully deceiving 
Arthur. 

Gerry — Arthur is a lawyer and not easily deceiv- 
ed — besides he can make nothing of my thwarted 
attempt at burglary so long as you refuse to prose- 
cute me. 

Kent — It would make interesting gossip for the 
clubs, as well as paying copy for reporters eager for 
every detail — Ha, ha! “Indiscretions of Youth, the 
Means of Regeneration.” 

Gerry — Is your jealousy the sort to stoop to a 
thing like that? 


ACT III 


89 


Lady-fair — What do you mean, Arthur? 

Kent — I mean I’m sure now of what I’ve sus' 
pected from the first — that Gerry Newcome commit- 
ted a crime, ( The look on both faces is corrobora- 
tive) punishable by law in spite of you had it been 
discovered by anyone but you, and which you used 
for coercing him into work. You held the proofs 
of his crime, and he used the brotherly freedom of 
your home to take a key with which to enter at the 
dead of night to steal — 

Lady-fair — No, no, Arthur, you’re wrong — 
absurdly, frightfully mistaken! — he never dreamed 
of such a thing. 

Kent — What other motive could have taken him 
to your rooms the night Benjamin — ( She sinks into 
a chair with a cry and buries her face in her hands). 
Forgive me for recalling — ( He turns away in mo- 
mentary chagrin). 

Gerry — ( Bending over the back of her chair). 
For God sake trust me! 

Mrs. Newcome — {At the drawingroom en- 
trance). I ain’t stuck on Hermiony’s music — 

Gerry — Keep them in there a little longer, Mum- 
sey — that’s a dear! 

Mrs. Newcome — {Peering around at the hud- 
dled figure in the chair). Had to get it over sooner 
or later, I guess. Poor little thing! 

Gerry — {Turning his mother about by the 
shoulders). Yes — yes — er — Benjamin, of course, — 
We’ll come in as soon as she has recovered. 

Mrs. Newcome — All right — Hermiony won’t 
mind, she’s not wastin’ time. She’s playing for high 
stakes with her father-in-law-what-is-to-be. Stay 
out as long as you want. The more she jollies, the 


90 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


bigger the settlement. ( She reenters the drawing - 
room , half -closing the portieres behind her). 

Kent — I deeply regret, Lady-fair, having to re- 
call — 

Gerry — It would be more humane, to say nothing 
of better taste, to settle this between ourselves, and 
it will serve your purpose quite as well tomorrow — 

Kent — {Doggedly) . Tonight — before we leave 
this room — Lady-fair must give me the right to pro- 
tect her against you, or else tomorrow public interest 
in you shall take a new turn. 

Gerry — The sacrifice of both herself and her for- 
tune is a higher price than I’d let her pay for my 
reputation even if it lay in your power to blast it. 

Kent — If you doubt the fickleness of the public, 
wait till rumor — 

Lady-fair — ( Lifting a white , drawn face). Has 
it occurred to you, Arthur, that in blasting his repu- 
tation you may blast mine? 

Gerry and Kei^t — No! 

Lady- fair — Yes! — I’d deny in print, on the wit- 
ness-stand, from the house-top , that Gerry had any 
thought of stealing that package. 

Kent — You don’t know his motive for entering. 

Gerry — You can’t possibly know what was in my 
mind — 

Lady-fair — I do — better than you know yourself 
— for you were drinking. 

Kent — Drinking? 

Gerry — No\ — just — just confused at finding her 
in the room — you understand, Kent? 

Lady-fair — I’m sure he was drinking. He was 
vexed because his key wouldn’t fit — ( Kent smiles 
appreciatively , Gerry in protest) and when he seized 


ACT III 


9i 


the knob and the door opened, he was amazed to find 
himself in my apartment instead of his own. He was 
drinking only enough to make him un — unnatural 
and heedless of the hour and — and foolishly sen — 
senti — {Gerry, at the back of her chair, puts a hand 
over her lips, withdrawing it instantly with a warn- 
ing pressure of her shoulders). — you understand, 
Arthur. 

Kent — Better than you do, I fear. He must 
have done a very Jwcreditable bit of acting. 

Lady-fair — Acting? {She looks up quickly at 

Gerry ) . 

Gerry — {In frowning uncertainty, looking at 
Kent). Acting? 

Kent — {With professional complacency). Her- 
mione’s advice, which I chanced to overhear, throws 
light upon the whole situation. The “documents in 
evidence” — in all probability confession of follies 
committed, pleas for assistance out of difficulties he 
dared not take to his father, even a condoned forgery 
of your name, I suspect, — had become not only a 
yoke of tyranny to him, but a barrier between him 
and Hermione whose jealousy goaded him into try- 
ing to get possession of the package at any price. He 
entered your apartment to search for it, but finding 
you awake and in the room, he substituted the tactics 
she had advised — playing upon your affection — 

Lady- fair — {Springing up with a cry of anger 
and shame). Oh! — I’d ten thousand times rather 
he’d been drinking! 

Gerry — It was neither — I swear to you, Lady- 
fair! {Her back is to him, and she misses the un- 
guarded look and gesture that reveal part of the 
truth to Kent). 


g2 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Kent — (To Gerry). You fiend! — better ten 
thousand times for her it had been — 

Lady-fair — ( Breathlessly ). What? 

Kent — Either — anything rather than — than — 
(His eyes are intent upon Gerry s struggle for self- 
control , and he gathers her hands in his , pressing 
them excitedly while continuing in a voice that 
trembles with love and vengeance). Lady-fair, I have 
urged my love upon you for years, but the time has 
come for me to enforce my protection. Promise to 
marry me and I will swear silence in regard to Ger- 
ry Newcome’s past — swear it with my vows to you 
at the altar ; hesitate any longer, and I will free you 
from his tyranny if I have to change the triumphal 
march of a returning hero to the lock-step of a con- 
vict. (She jerks away from him , sinks again into 
the chair and covers her face with her hands). 

Gerry — This has become brutal. Why should 
she sacrifice herself to either your love or my folly ? 
You can hold your knowledge as a club over my 
head without dragging her thro’ the slime of court 
interpretations — 

Kent — Prove your sincerity by telling me the club 
you wielded — drunk, acting, or with a selfishness 
unbelievable — to wring from her the promise never 
to marry. 

Gerry — (Gravely, and disregarding her implor- 
ing look). If you had gotten yourself into the 
tangle I had, don’t you think the easiest way out of 
it would have seemed — suicide? (Lady-fair drops 
back in her chair with a hysterical laugh and sob 
which she stifles in her handkerchief) . 

Kent — (In self -disgust) . I wonder I didn’t 
think of that! The threat of suicide has always 


ACT III 


93 


been the coward’s club over those that love him. 

Gerry — My club has become a toy-balloon if 
love gave it its weight. Fear casteth out love, as 
love fear, and I made her afraid. Didn’t I, Lady- 
fair? — Did I? ( He leans over the back of her 
chair with a look in his eyes and a plea in his voice 
ihat make Kent grit his teeth). 

Kent — “Afraid” mildly expresses what a cor- 
oner’s inquest over your dead body in her rooms at 
that time of night — (He gestures with significant 
disgust ). Her Good-angel has wrought strangely 
noble ends out of your ignoble intentions — or else the 
Devil takes care of his own. (He walks away an- 
grily. Lady-fair s eyes follow him with suspended 
breath, and Gerry revels in a moment near her with 
unguarded eyes and well-guarded hands as he rests 
his arms on the back of her chair, just above her 
hair. Mrs. Newcome comes to the door, gazes in a 
puzzled silence, then retreats, and Hermione is heard 
playing again). 

Gerry — (So softly that Kent has to strain to 
hear). It was her “good-angel.” The Devil would 
never have prepared for his own the bed I have 
lain on all these lonely, homesick nights I’ve been a 
fugitive from conscience, exiled from all that made 
life worth while — with nothing by day but work, 
work, work beneath a merciless sun — with fatigue 
too great for sleep on my hard bed at night beneath 
a maddening moon or stars — with little occupation 
for the mind but to live and relive and live over 
again the blind, egotistic mistake of youth and in- 
experience — (She raises her head and looks at him 
wonderingly, while Kent draws nearer). — to bless 
and curse, curse and bless in turn, the self-awaken- 


94 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


ing that came too late. (He looks down into the 
face raised to his in fascinated uncertainty and for- 
gets Kent). Before Heaven, Lady-fair, there was 
no premeditation in it! I was a victim of circum- 
stances, of a temptation unprepared for, of too sud- 
den change from boy to man — ( She shrinks from 

his eager nearness , and he checks himself , straight- 
ens up and presses his hands into the soft back of the 
chair). The madness of the moment was the birth 
of a new self that would have atoned had Vengeance 
not outstripped Truth. . . . God! what a year 

to have lived if it has been lived in vain ! 

Kent — It need not be in vain if there’s any limit 
to your selfishness. I will share her silence in re- 
gard to your past if I may have the right to protect 
her. Consider the alternative before you refuse again 
to release her from her promise. — On the one hand, 
admiration and envy for having made good in a dif- 
ficult profession and* launched yourself upon a bril- 
liant career in a .way that appeals to a hero-worship- 
ping public; on the other hand, suspicion, contempt 
and clamor that changes easily from cheers to 
hisses — 

Lady-fair — No, no, I will marry — 

Gerry — ( Reminding her). Your word of honor, 
Lady-fair. 

Lady-fair — My — my honor — my word of honor, 
Arthur, or I would — would save Gerry — Why 
won’t you let me, Gerry? 

Gerry — Because you do not love him — because 
you shall not sacrifice in a second loveless marriage 
the price of yourself in the first — because a million 
dollars and your birthright of woman’s happiness is 
more than I will let you surrender to save me from 


ACT III 


95 


disgrace or even imprisonment ! 

Lady-fair — How could I be happy — 

Gerry — Do you want his protection? 

Lady-fair — I — I want his silence. 

Gerry — I don’t — at the price. ( His face is white 
and set, hers agonized , and Kent's determined ) . 

Lady-fair — Oh, how pitiless men have been to 
me! — father, husband, friend, but most of all the boy 
I have loved as — 

Gerry — no woman ever loved before! For that 
reason it is my turn to save you from yourself. I 
could be happier in prison, knowing you belonged to 
yourself, than with freedom and fame bought at such 
a price. . . . Why are you afraid of my love? 

( She and Kent start at the quiet acknowledgment) . 
It asks nothing — ( The light goes out of her eyes) 
— hopes for nothing — ( Kent smiles sneeringly) — 
fears nothing any longer, at your hands, — why should 
you fear it ? 

Kent — Because in the eyes of any man who 
doesn’t understand and defy you, as I do, her “cour- 
ageous indiscretion” left her completely at your 
mercy when she destroyed the proof of your crime. 

Gerry — Destroyed ? 

Kent — You didn’t know? 

Lady-fair — Didn’t they write you? 

Mr. Newcome — ( From the drawingroom en- 
trance, where stand also Mrs. Newcome and Herm- 
ione in questioning surprise). Not us! I laid down 
the law there — I says we’ve got to give Lady-fair’s 
medicine time to work. 

Gerry — You couldn’t have been afraid if you 
destroyed the letters. 

Hermione — I said they were letters! 

Kent — Hush — sh! ( Hissing the command and 


96 GERRY’S AWAKENING 

straining for Gerry s words). 

Gerry — When did you destroy them? 

Lady-fair — When I learned in whose arms my 
child — 

Gerry — You considered that atonement for the 
hideous experience — 

Mrs. Newcome — Land sakes, my son, you 
wasn’t to blame. It’s been a comfort to her to know 
that loving arms — 

Gerry — Arms that had — 

Lady-fair — Please — please! ( The cry startles 
everyone into some involuntary movement as she 
springs toward Gerry and presses both hands against 
his lips. He kisses them and draws them away , re- 
taining them in his own). 

Gerry — You forgave because you — 

Hermione — I knew she was in love with him! 

Kent — Don’t be a fool! ( Then turning on 
Gerry). Burglary, suicide, — what elsel 

Gerry — A broken head if you butt in! ( With 
an exultant catch, almost a sob, in his voice). 

Mrs. Newcome — Oh, my boy, my boy! did the 
heat of that awful country go to your head? 

Mr. Newcome — Are you crazy, my son? ( Her- 
mione giggles hysterically, and Lady-fair submits to 
Gerry s restraining arm about her shoulders, too ter- 
rified to struggle for freedom). 

Gerry — Crazy with joy, perhaps, but Arthur and 
I are only fighting in the open the battle waged be- 
tween us ever since his legal mind conceived the 
idea that this, my guardian-angel, needed his pro- 
tection against graceless me. 

Mrs. Newcome — Shucks! 

Gerry — ( Without heeding the interruption ex- 


ACT III 


97 


cept with a look that throws down the gauntlet to 
Kent). He — and possibly each of you except Lady- 
fair — regards me as the boy of a year ago, to whom 
luck or chance or force of circumstances has given a 
little cheap and temporary distinction. You don’t 
realize the completeness of Lady-fair’s work in mak- 
ing a man of me. 

Kent — A man frightened at her knowledge of the 
material and the means! 

Mrs. Newcome — If you two are goin’ to scrap, 
speak out plain so’s we can understand. 

Gerry — ( Turning to his mother , but not releas- 
ing his light hold upon Lady-fair) . The material 
was rotten, you’ll have to admit, and the means more 
than risky for Lady-fair, but the result is beyond 
anything you can imagine! 

Kent — Self-appreciation — 

Hermione — You sure have changed some! 

Mr. Newcome — Ain’t you a bit excited, my son? 

Mrs. Newcome — Let the boy blow his horn — 
goodness knows it ain’t been blowed for him much 
till lately! 

Gerry — Thanks, Mumsey, I would like the 
credit at least of overcoming the handicap of being 
a rich man’s only son, of enduring hardships that ’d 
faze a sewer-digger, of retrieving wasted years by 
keeping on my job with eyes open to every oppor- 
tunity Fate sent my way — but if any band’s playing 
Conquering Hero for me, it’s because I’ve con- 
quered my conqueror and won her — ( The need to 

catch and support the cowering figure slipping from 
his clasp , distracts his attention and suspends his 
words for a tense instant). — for my wife. 

Chorus — YOUR WIFE ? ( Astonishment , in dig- 


98 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


nation and incredulity greet the suggestion , while La- 
dy-fair *, with a prolonged O — oh! that glides from 
terror to joy , straightens up as if a caress had been 
given where she had expected a blow , and she be- 
comes a new creature under the arm that goes back 
to her shoulders in a light , detaining clasp). 

Mrs. Newcome — The boy is stark, starin’ crazy! 

Kent — Give up a million dollars for you! 

Gerry — With less persuasion, I trust, than two- 
thirds of a million for you. 

Mr. Newcome — She’s done enough for you, my 
son — 

Hermione — ( With a shrill , scornful laugh). 
Like Lonny Bryce’s flowers and candy and no kiss. 

Gerry — (Under cover of the momentary distrac- 
tion). Would you treat me that way? — strip, flay 
and torture the cub-devils out of me, then deny the 
man — 

Mr. Newcome — Remember Hermione, my son! 
(The hint is a general reminder. Kent starts, 
Hermione protests by gesture , and Mrs. Newcome 
snorts, while the shoulders beneath Gerry*s arm 
tremble. He tightens his clasp with tender exulta- 
tion). 

Gerry — Dizzy repudiated me by telegraph as 
soon as she learned my South American address. 

Mrs. Newcome — Thank the Lord I give it to 
her! (Hermione rushes out of the room. Gerry 
and Lady-fair exchange rapid-fire confidences in 
eager undertone) . 

Mr. Newcome — Now look here, Mumsey, you 
ain’t to encourage the boy in this piece of stupendous 
selfishness — 

Mrs. Newcome — He seems to want her dread- 


ACT III 


99 


fully bad. 

Kent — ( Trembling with rage). Others want 
her, too, Mrs. Newcome — but the important thing 
is for her to have what she wants. 

Mrs. Newcome — She sure looks as if she’d got it! 
( Gerry and Lady-fair laugh aloud , and she tries to 
escape , but he catches her by the hand). Though it 
seems to me she’s — he’s a bit young — 

Gerry — Don’t forget my gray hairs, Mum- 
sey? Ages rolled over me those endless days and 
nights I thought I had killed both love and respect! 

Mr. Newcome — ( In tearful sputtering) . Don’t 
— don’t you work on her feelings. I’ll — I’ll give her 
the million I’ve just set aside for you, and she can 
marry who she pleases. 

Gerry — Capital idea, Dad! Your money came 
near playing the deuce with me — Besides, it isn’t a 
loose screw I’ve got in my head — 

Mr. Newcome — {On the verge of apoplexy). I 
won’t have her sacrificing herself for you — let go of 
her — {Hermione stops in the doorway , her wraps 
on, and listens with renewed hope; Kent makes a 
movement as if to help enforce the father s com- 
mand, and Mrs. Newcome looks on in helpless pro- 
test. Gerry J s arm slips to Lady-fair's waist in un- 
yielding possession, and his voice betrays difficult 
self-control) . 

Gerry — Let go of Lady-fair, Dad? You might 
as well ask one to let go of a life-preserver in mid- 
ocean. Hers has been the influence that has saved 
me from moral ship-wreck. You and Mumsey have 
loved me, not wisely, but too well, while she has 
loved both wisely and — {His voice drops humbly). 
her guardian-angel alone knows how well ! 


IOO 


GERRY’S AWAKENING 


Mr. Newcome — She sha’n’t be a martyr even to 
keep you from going to the devil — 

Kent — Gratitude should make you lift her to a 
pedestal beyond the reach of selfishness. 

Gerry — I would worship her on my knees. ( She 
makes a quick gesture of protest). — if I didn’t 
know she’d rather for me to love her. 


CURTAIN 















